


The Summers Drive

by TheZev



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Breeding, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Dominance, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Fight Sex, Harems, Porn With Plot, Submission, Submissive Character, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-02-16 01:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18681022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheZev/pseuds/TheZev
Summary: With mutant birthrates in decline, something has to be done to ensure a new generation of mutants is born. Will Scott Summers fucking the lovely ladies of the X-Men and passing on his potent DNA help? It can't hurt.





	1. Chapter 1

Scott Summers walked through the Xavier Mansion lost in thought. The science was conclusive; everyone from Reed Richards to Bruce Banner agreed. The biggest threat facing mutants wasn’t Sentinels or Inhumans, it was falling birth rates.

 

That was true across the board, of course, but while flatscan humans could survive going without middle children, such a decrease would be catastrophic for mutants. The X-gene, once so resilient, so inevitable, would be starved out of existence like a flame without air.

 

What could be done about it? All the arguments against child-rearing that applied to humans applied to mutants: climate change, economic downturn—a world that seemed to become less suitable for humanity the more they changed it to suit them. And then there were the mutant arguments. Countless doomed futures lying in wait. Government pogroms. Uncaring superheroes and hateful supervillains. It wasn’t a world Scott would choose to bring a child into. But that was the irony. To get the better world they hoped for, they would have to have faith the world would get better… instead of acknowledging that it wasn’t.

 

Such were the dark thoughts he was grappling with—whether having children was an act of survival or a curse handed down—that he didn’t notice his quarters were occupied as he came into them. While usually he would’ve registered another’s presence immediately, possibly even sensed it with well-honed instincts before his hand touched the doorknob, now it was not until the door was firmly shut behind him that he realized Emma was inside.

 

She was in the bedroom, a little off from the foyer immediately through his front door, and he felt her in his thoughts, the psychic equivalent of a tap on the shoulder. _Time for bed,_ she cast to him, and Scott felt his groin answering with growing hardness. He walked into the bedroom and saw that she was dressed down, for her, wearing a white jacket with an ermine fur collar and nothing underneath, a pair of those ironically virginal white panties, and then nothing for her miles of long legs except her high heels at the end. She sat in an armchair in the corner.

 

Tessa was on the bed, wearing not her usual uniform, but a black corset, black panties, stockings and hose. The neutral expression on her computerized face made her trim, sleek body paradoxically more arousing, the thought that she was dressed like that, offered up like that, and yet blithe, challenging anyone who viewed her to replace her stony expression with one more lustful—Scott knew it should’ve killed his arousal to find a third party in his bed, but it only grew, seeing Tessa kneeling there, awaiting his orders. Or perhaps Emma’s.

 

“Emma?” he asked. “What’s going on? Did Tessa spill something on her own bed?”

 

He’d never been much of a joker and Emma overlooked his attempt now.

 

“I’m being _practical,”_ Emma trilled, making it sound like a sexual position. The obvious irony: however practical Emma was, it was only to please herself. “You’re looked upon quite highly in the community, you know. Xavier’s a hypocrite. Magneto’s a maniac. Wolverine’s a killer. You’re the only real hero we have.”

 

“So?” Scott asked, biting back a reflexive need to argue. He was no hero. He had a job.

 

“If you start making babies, others will catch on. And you would make a very good babymaker—so to speak. Isn’t that right, Sage?”

 

Tessa spoke her, her voice slightly rough with electronic undertones. “The villain Mr. Sinister is right to be so obsessed with your genes, Scott Summers. Your variant of the X-gene is significantly more advanced than the usual chromosome. It has the potential to create vastly powerful mutants. In laboratory tests, it counteracts several debilitating birth defects. With even slight gene therapy, it could make any of your descendants immune to the Legacy Virus, the Terrigen Mist, and various other genetic threats to mutantkind. Theoretically, the Summers X-gene could’ve been bolstered by contact with the Eternals or experimentation by the Celestials…”

 

“Yes, Sage, that’s enough,” Emma interrupted. “You get the point, Scott. Not only would you knocking a woman up inspire other mutants to start families, but your children would be all quite the Second Coming. As frustrating as Rachel and Cable can be at times, I’d rather have more X-Men like them than, oh, say Beak.”

 

“This is your way of telling me you want to have kids?” Scott asked.

 

“Me? Oh, God no.” Emma ran a hand over her bare belly. “Imagine ruining this figure with a pregnancy. I went to an Ivy League school; I think not. But Sage here… we became quite good friends in the Hellfire Club. Yes, she was only there to spy for Xavier, but while she may have been an X-Man in her mind, her body was another matter.”

 

“You want me to fuck her?” Scott asked, hardly able to believe it.

 

“For starters,” Emma said. “I know a great deal many women who could do with breeding—top-quality women, you understand. Impeccable references, so to speak. Not bad-looking, either. If we’re to do this, after all, we can’t have you go around thrusting into just anyone. You’re not Gambit, after all.”

 

“Thanks,” Scott said laconically.

 

“You’re welcome,” Emma said sincerely. “I do this only thinking of you, of course. But I will help out where I can. That’s the way you like to do it, isn’t it? As a team? Sage, enough posing. Present yourself.”

 

Turning around, Sage dropped onto all fours, showing Scott her ass. The panties were thin enough not to conceal a single pubic hair through their nylon mesh. Not that there were many of those on Tessa’s shorn sex. Emma had clearly prepared Tessa for him as eloquently as she would an arrangement of flowers, a three-course meal, or an exhibition at an art gallery. He had no doubt that Tessa would prove as scintillating a sexual partner as Emma herself.

 

But despite all he and Emma had been through, and the steadiness with which he regarded the constant push and pull of their relationship, he wondered how smart it was to give into her here. Her reasoning was entirely sound, Emma once more voicing the thoughts he was still turning over unspoken in his head, but was it wise to let her call the shots? He thought he caught a sparkle in her eyes, an ironic gleam, as if she were daring him to dispute her decision-making… or perhaps asking him to.

 

He knew how powerful a Summers child could be, but both times, that child had essentially come from him and Jean. It was that kind of inevitability that fostered such inadequacy in Emma, made her lash out at times, feeling that she was inherently unlovable and that he was destined for Jean. Perhaps, despite her chilly words, having a child with her would show her how much he cared for her… and Emma only wanted him to insist on her being his mate.

 

Scott could’ve laughed. He’d been called upon to make a seemingly infinite number of tactical decisions in his time: why should having a child prove any different?


	2. Mate The White Queen

“Oh, _Emma,”_ Scott chuckled, his voice rich with irony. “Surely you don’t think little Tessa here can compare with _you._ The _White Queen.”_

 

Emma froze, brows knitted in confusion. “Whatever do you mean, my love?”

 

“I mean why would I want Tessa when I can have you? Fuck you? Come inside you? Make you pregnant?”

 

Emma shook her head, laughing nervously, for once flustered. “But Scott… I told you… my figure…”

 

“It’ll make those tits of yours even bigger,” Scott said, reaching out to haul her to her feet. “I thought you’d go in for that.”

 

“But I _told you_ to fuck _her,”_ Emma insisted, looking a little desperately at Tessa.

 

“I’m leader of the X-Men, ‘my love’. You don’t tell me what to do.”

 

Just like that, Scott was pulling Emma through their suite, her tiny efforts to resist utterly futile. Helpless, she was dragged into the bathroom with him. He threw open the medicine cabinet. Its mirrored door swung out to show Tessa, still kneeling on the bed.

 

“Your birth control,” Scott said. “Throw it out. You won’t need it anymore.”

 

Ironically for the ice queen, Emma was all fired up on the outside, but warm as a summer day on the inside. Scott could see it in her eyes—a delighted gleam that he could discern no matter how hard she tried to keep up her act of smug superiority. As he’d surmised and, indeed, hoped, Emma wanted him to choose her, wanted him to make her his mate in the most certain terms imaginable, and most of all, she wanted him to do it this way, _her way,_ not with candles and flowers, but rough, hard, fast.

 

Diamonds couldn’t be broken, it was said. Scott would put that to the test.

 

“Make me,” Emma challenged.

 

Scott grabbed her by the throat, all while Tessa watched, her computerized eyes recording every detail. Scott wondered if that exhibitionism—a combination of voyeurism and sex tape—was the real point of Emma inviting Tessa here. He didn’t care much either way. As long as he was onboard with Emma’s plan, he’d have to get comfortable with other women in the bedroom sooner or later.

 

He squeezed Emma hard, not enough to truly hurt her, but letting her know in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t kidding around. This game was being played to win. “If you're too scared to be fucked yourself, then safe word already.”

 

Despite the game, despite the pain, Emma grinned. This was more than what she wanted—it was what she needed. To open herself up and be truly vulnerable, she needed the freedom only a mask offered. It was no wonder she had become a superhero. It was the only way her fetish could get any kinkier.

 

“If you want to play rough, I can play rough.” And that was the last acknowledgment she gave that this was anything but him taking what he wanted from her.

 

 _I love you,_ she teeped into his head.

 

Scott smiled back at you. _Love you too,_ he replied in kind. Then dug his thumb into her jugular vein. _My little whore._

 

She slapped him. Hard. His cheek burning, Scott shoved her backward. She twisted about, her high heels slipping between the bath mat and the tile floor. She caught herself on the shower curtain and the bath faucet, accidentally turning on the tap, water thundering down into the tub.

 

“You’re going to get it now,” Scott said, his visor burning like a demon.

 

“Fuck you!” Emma spat, trying to get up. Scott put his boot on her back, pushing her down so that her throat was against the rim of the tub. She gurgled as she was choked. Keeping the pressure on, Scott undid his belt and worked his fly down.

 

“Tessa’s watching, Emma. She sees everything. She’s going to see how I fuck cockteasing little bitches like you.”

 

Then he was kneeling behind her, holding her head down so that her face was lowered into the tub. She could see her own reflection in the water, her face flushed and straining. Even more humiliatingly, she could hear Scott hum in approval as he inspected her ass, revealed by how she was bent over the bathtub. Her white panties gloved the curvaceous ass she was usually so happy to tempt him with, its elastic hems slicing across the soft flesh of her backside. Scott ripped them away, leaving her bare ass and wet pussy on display. Emma even felt Scott shift his body to let Tessa get a good look.

 

“I’m going to fuck you like this every night,” Scott whispered, his voice hot and urgent in Emma’s ear. “Until you have the good sense to be knocked up.”

 

Emma grunted, not sure whether she felt more humiliation or anger as Scott’s monstrous erection slammed into her pussy. She could see reflected back at her how her face contorted as she took his cock. Usually he was gentle. Usually he gave her time to get used to how much of it there was. Now he was letting her know just how big it is, and she would never take its size for granted again.

 

Scott thrust into Emma’s slick passage, even her body taking him with mixed emotions. Tightening to keep him out, but sucking at him when he was inside. He thrust into her with savage lunges, burying his cock to the balls with each drive. From the first stroke, he let Emma know she was being fucked.

 

Emma bit her tongue to keep from screaming—Scott wasn’t hurting her, exactly, but the intensity was so much more than she was used to. Usually, their lovemaking was all about her pleasure, Scott doing everything he could to satisfy her. This… this wasn’t even him gratifying himself. He was showing her that he owned her, that his violent strokes had free rein of her pussy, his balls slapping against her creamy thighs painfully, as if punishing her for daring to suggest otherwise.

 

Emma saw her face in the water and didn’t even recognize the reflection. The pain was one thing, but this was… this was irrevocable. She was his. This baby wasn’t just the future of mutantkind, it was _their_ future. A flag planted in occupied territory, a Summers child in her belly to let everyone know that she was his and he would never let her go.

 

Such a thing should’ve been consummated with romance and pet names, all the greeting card shit that both of them had no time for, but Emma so much preferred it like this. Fire and ice. The fire of Scott’s raging desire, and the ice of the drive with which he practiced it. She had no doubt that, game or no, Scott would be as good as his word. She could look forward to these domineering fucks until the day her womb gave in where the rest of her already had, accepting his mastery over her. She felt like the White Queen again—sitting on the right hand of a worthy White King at last.

 

Emma screamed—the sheer intensity of the fuck shooting up from her cunt, through the womb Scott sought to conquer, up into her throat until it was blasting out of her mouth. And as she vented the painful feeling, a deliciously warm pleasure grew inside her too. It was like she was being penetrated by two cocks. One staggering her senses with immense, painful thunder, the other matching the first’s strokes with growing ecstasy.

 

“Fuck me,” she breathed, her voice stirring the water under her. “Please fuck me!”

 

“You’re beginning to figure out what that cunt of yours is for, huh?” Scott asked, deliberately goading her, ramming his member all the way into her sex until it seemed impossible for her pleasure to dwarf the ramrod pain—yet somehow it did. “It’s not for you… _nhh…_ not for your damn sex toys… _hhg…_ your dainty fingers… it’s for this fucking prick!”

 

“Yes!” Emma heard herself say, with a voice quite unlike herself. “Yes, fuck my cunt!”

 

Scott let out a low laugh as he stopped thrusting into her, leaving a worn-out feeling in her sex of both pain and pleasure. And yet, no matter how much it hurt, she wanted him to keep going. She wiggled her hips, trying to tempt him back inside her.

 

“It’s not going to be that easy, Frost.”

 

“What do you mean?” Emma asked, as girlishly as one of her students.

 

Scott pulled out of her, moving his cockhead to her tight little anus. Emma’s eyes widened as she felt his engorged helmet pushing into an opening that seemed far too small to accommodate his prick—and he had amply shown her just how very big it was.

 

“As long as you’re on the pill, you can’t get pregnant,” Scott explained pedantically, as if to a child—Emma’s ears burned from his sheer tone, as if that were more of an offense than him being about to sodomize her. “If you can’t get pregnant, there’s no real need for me to fuck your cunt, is there? Not when your ass is so fucking _tight.”_

 

He pushed into her, letting Emma know for certain just how tight she was. She panicked, tensing her muscles, trying to keep him out, but Scott wouldn’t be denied. Slick with the lubrication from her cunt, Scott worked his cockhead into her asshole.

 

“It hurts!” Emma cried out. “Take it out!”

 

Scott slowly forced more of himself up her ass. “I don’t think so, baby. I think I’m gonna be in this tight little hole for a nice long while.”

 

“UHHH!” Emma howled as he shoved his cock in deeper, always deeper. “Christ, _please!_ You’re going to split me in half!”

 

Scott fucked into her, harder and harder, giving her nice long thrusts so she could really feel herself being impaled. Emma’s eyes rolled back in her head. She was helpless, utterly fucked, dominated to the point that all she could think about with the pain.

 

Scott forced her head into the bathwater, and with her underwater, he thrust his cock all the way into her ass.

 

Emma’s screams bubbled in the water. Then he pulled on her hair, setting her scalp on fire as he lifted her out of the way and let her breathe. No sooner had Emma gulped in air then Scott forced her back down, fucking her asshole once more, his rippling abs pounding against her plump ass. Scott felt his balls swelling with the hot load of cum meant to fill Emma’s bowels, and he fucked her harder, forcing her head in and out of the water to match his thrusts, leaving her barely able to breathe.

 

Finally, Scott let her stay upright, just as he thrust the entirety of his cock into her anus. “And just think,” Scott hissed in her ear. “You could have this in your pussy right now.” The first hot bullet of his seed splattered into her bowels. “You could be coming like a good girl instead of getting fucked in the ass like a whore.”

 

Emma had never known this pain. His cock was like a weapon as it forced its way into her rectum, stretching and forever altering her inner muscles. She felt faint, her vision blurry, sounds strangely deserted. And then she felt something new where Scott’s cock was impaling her. Something wonderful.

 

“Oh Jesus,” she moaned, hardly believing that this much pain could become something so sweet. She’d forgotten the claim Scott had staked on her body. How determined he was to prove he owned her, both her pain and her pleasure.

 

And as Scott’s cum poured into her bowels, the pain gripping Emma slowly released her, letting itself be replaced by a fiery pleasure that was almost equally unbearable. But she loved it—loved being the focus of all Scott’s attention, the sex object he had to claim. He might love Jean, but could he ever fuck _her_ like _this?_

 

“Scott!” she grunted. “Scott!”

 

He ignored her lovelorn cries. “Take it, you fucking slut! Take it all!”

 

Emma closed her eyes as his seed poured into her like hot wax. It hurt, but it brought delicious warmth that spread all throughout her body, and she keened with agonized glee as it burned her flesh into an inferno. Her eyes flew open as she came.

 

Scott looked into the water while Emma orgasmed. From Emma’s reflection, the look in her eyes, he could see she wasn’t regretting this. No, she was more turned on than ever—imagining him cumming this much in her pussy. Imagining him getting her pregnant.

 

Finally, Scott pulled out of her. She slumped down on the bathtub, gasping for air. Kneeling down, his cum was pouring out from between her splayed buttocks, covering the feet she’d settled her ass on. Emma giggled and wiggled her toes in the proof of how thoroughly Scott had used her.

 

Scott picked her up, now gently helping her into the bathtub and turning off the faucet. Emma cooed as the warm water worked its healing magic on her battered body.

 

“How’d you like the game?”

 

Emma laughed lightly. The warm water was getting to her cunt too—filling it with aching want. “Not bad,” she said. “But next time you should be a little rough.”

 

Scott chuckled himself and started undressing. “Tessa? Any comments?”

 

Tessa responded in her chirping electric voice. “I noted that Emma Frost orgasmed several times. Her orgasms arrived more frequently in proximity to Scott Summers making demeaning comments on her sexual morality. From this, I can conclude that Emma Frost is a filthy slut. The evidence would also suggests she enjoys being Scott Summers’ bitch, although it is possible that Emma Frost would experience similar sexual pleasure with any excessively sized phallus.”

 

Scott screwed up his face and gave a considering nod. “You don’t say… thanks, Tessa. You can go.”

 

Tessa got up to leave, seemingly paying no mind to the fact that she was still wearing scanty lingerie.

 

“One more thing,” Emma called. “Can you transfer the playback file of our little tryst to a standardized media format? I would like to have it on my phone.” She looked up at Scott, running her hands over her body as the steamy waters continued their work on her tired flesh. “We may know I’m his bitch, but Scott may need video proof as a reminder.”

 

“I just need you to turn around,” Scott retorted. “With the tight pants you wear, I’ll remember exactly what your ass looks like. Then I just have to think of how it looked wrapped around my cock.”

 

Emma purred. “Get in the tub, Scott. I need to be washed. I feel dirty.”

 

Scott shed the last of his clothes, but didn’t immediately obey—instead reaching into the medicine cabinet to pick up Emma’s pill wheel. “And this?”

 

“Pitch it,” Emma said readily. “I won’t need it anytime soon. One of the advantages of being pregnant is you can go into me bareback as much as you want.”

 

Scott dropped the birth control into the bathroom’s waste basket before climbing into the bath with Emma. She let him pull her close and kiss her tenderly on the forehead, though it was hard to tell who needed the loving gesture more, her or him.

 

“I suppose you’ve sorted me out now,” Emma commented, resting her head against Scott’s chest as he laid under her. “But if I’m going down, I’m taking several of my sister mutants with me. I insist on seeing you put to stud while I’m still svelte enough to enjoy the process.”

 

“Who’d you have in mind?” Scott asked.

 

“Oh, look at Summers, all considerate now that he’s ruined my ass,” Emma quipped. “I _was_ going to feed a selection of my finest students to you, but since you’re the one in charge, I suppose you’ll be fulfilling some of those fun fantasies we’ve played with in your head. Shame. Some of my girls were so well-bred…”

 

“And you’d like them to be even more so,” Scott said. “Maybe later.”

 

“Yes. For a leader, you have a naughty tendency to play favorites. Still, as far as entrees on the menu, Psylocke is a delicacy. She’s probably been dreaming of you breeding her for years—a nice easy kill as we get you back on the dating scene, so to speak.”

 

“Haven’t we been dating?” Scott asked.

 

“Darling, please. I’ve had my legs wrapped around you like a sprung bear-trap. That’s not dating. That’s fucking with breaks to resolve annoying side issues.”

 

Scott didn’t dispute Emma’s assessment. “You know, there is the elephant in the room…”

 

“Yes. Your dearly departed Jean Grey, who only gets more dear and less departed with time.”

 

“Would you be comfortable with that?” Scott asked reassuringly. “I don’t want to start WW3 between the two of you.”

 

Emma sighed. “If she can make peace with it, I can. Your spawn would be formidable. And it might be fun to see Jean on the receiving end of this little dark side I’ve brought out of you. No false modesty, Scott: I’m a queen, but the Phoenix is a god. And I could stand to see you cut us both down to size.”

 

“I think you may have something of an ulterior motive here,” Scott commented. “One that isn’t particularly conductive to mating season.”

 

“You’ll get your turn with her,” Emma protested. “I’m just saying it may take both of us to tame her. I never did quite manage it with Jean back at the Hellfire Club. How interesting a rematch would be—“ She patted Scott’s chest. “Especially with a real man in my corner, and not some… Ren Faire enthusiast.”

 

Scott chuckled. “Ouch.”

 

“So what will it be, Scott?” Emma asked, looking up at him as expectantly as a child begging for a puppy. “Which girl do you want me to help you fuck?”


	3. Breed Psylocke

Betsy Braddock was a sight to behold. Even out of her justly famous costume, in a unadorned gi, she was a vision. Her delicate Asian features had a boldness and vibrancy belying their gentleness, with her blue eyes being especially fierce, somehow reflecting the Occidental psyche that animated them. And she had the height of a supermodel, her body tall and elegant, with robust breasts that swayed and jiggled around the plunging neckline of her gi. Despite its formless shape and simple linen, she filled out the martial arts uniform voluptuously, so unlike the stereotypically lean Asiatic body type that Scott would well understand those who accused her of being silicone-enhanced. It wasn’t so much that she defied race as she transcended it, somehow embodying the charms of both her ethnicities in one gorgeous package.

 

She was both well aware of Scott’s appreciation and unafraid to voice it. “Nice of you to come spar with me, Scott. It’s always hard to find a partner who doesn’t mind getting a proper beating.”

 

“Maybe they don’t want to mar that pretty face.” Scott smiled at her coyly. “Of course, I’m used to doing what needs to be done.”

 

Betsy’s eyes trailed over him, seeing his muscles brusquely outlined in his own gi, and the sizable member that was apparent even in loose pants. Or maybe she was just noting that he was only a brown belt, while she was a sandan black belt.

 

Of course, a sandan would well know that size could count as much as skill in a fight, and Scott outdid Betsy on both reach and muscle. It would make for an interesting contest—in many respects.

 

“You’re welcome to do what you like to my face,” Betsy retorted. “So long as Emma doesn’t mind.” She reached behind herself to gather her hair in a ponytail, keeping it out of the way during the match. “In fact, I thought you were avoiding me, considering all our past history. Now that you’re a taken man again. ‘Lead us not into temptation’?”

 

“That’s not really Emma’s philosophy,” Scott replied. He tightened the strap on his visor to a painful degree. He wouldn’t risk it getting knocked aside while he fought her.

 

“And what’s yours?” Betsy asked.

 

Scott only smiled and made a respectful bow. Betsy did the same. However, when she straightened, she found that Scott was not waiting patiently for her to defend herself. He was coming to her full speed, in lengthy strides that ate up the exercise mat between them. Betsy tried to ready herself, but with lightning quickness, Scott was reaching for her. Only he didn’t make an attack. He grasped the folds of her gi and wrenched it open, exposing her bare breasts to his eyes.

 

Betsy was so shocked that she instinctively reacted with a series of incensed blows, ill-considered in their strategy. Scott batted them aside coolly. Betsy hadn’t stopped to adjust her gi and so it stayed open, revealing her breasts’ ripe jiggle as she fought. And Scott took them in—she could feel his eyes on them—without it affecting his calm control one bit. He evaded, turned aside, and blocked her flurry of blows, until finally they were locked forearm to forearm, struggling bodily against each other. Betsy had lucked into the leverage, but Scott still had the power.

 

“That was awfully forward of you,” Betsy said, her face burning, and not just with embarrassment. She had dreamed of him making a bold move like that, but it’d been a dream for so long that she had little idea of what to do when faced with him actually doing it.

 

“I thought you liked forward. You certainly seemed to when you had a new bikini or bath towel to show off every day,” Scott said unapologetically, tensing his muscles as he pushed her back a step. Betsy realized that he was holding back to have this face to face with her, and her muddled emotions settled on being pissed off.

 

With a harsh war cry, she threw him back and drove into him with sharp jabs, staggering him and drawing a pained grunt before he marshalled a block. And still she didn’t let up, knocking him back until she had him against the wall, her forearm across his throat.

 

“It depends on whether I’m giving or receiving,” she told him.

 

“So which is it?” Scott asked her. “Do you want to give or receive?”

 

Betsy lifted her leg and rubbed her thigh against his crotch, unsurprisingly finding him half-hard. It was enough to make her bite her lip, even as she asked suspiciously “What’s gotten into you?”

 

“You tell me. Read my mind.”

 

Betsy regarded him scrupulously, wary of some trick. She did accept his invitation, but she did it with her psionic defenses fully raised. And still, slipping into Scott’s head was as easy as submerging herself into a warm bath. For a man as closed off as Scott, his experience with telepaths let her enter smoothly and gently, a nice easy ride. She immediately followed his chain of thought to what he wanted to show her.

 

The night before. Emma Frost and her amazing beauty, her seductive nature, and the quasi-domineering nature that made bringing her to heel so very satisfying. Betsy gasped as she relived how Scott had broken Emma and how Emma had wanted to be broken.

 

Unfortunately for her, investing so much of herself in mental defenses had literally taken her mind off the fight. While Betsy was shocked silent by the thought of Scott and Emma’s sex life, Scott threw her off him, only to wrap her in his arms. He kissed her hard and hungrily.

 

Betsy’s fingers dug into Scott’s back as she realized that Scott’s keen analytical mind hadn’t mistook Emma’s reactions. In his memory, he had seen her climax repeatedly, virtually overdose on the pleasure he gave her, and there was no exaggeration there. Betsy felt the same pleasure as Scott kissed her, touched her.

 

After their tongues had learned enough of each other, Scott lifted his hand to one of Betsy’s full breasts. He closed his fingers around its wonderful curvature, fingertips describing how it differed from Emma’s. While Emma’s breasts were pert and firm, Betsy’s were soft and pliant, changing shape in his hand as he squeezed it, flowing into his grip and spreading under his fingers.

 

“You shagged her,” Betsy moaned, lost in Scott’s memories of _taking_ Emma, a woman Betsy never would’ve thought would be brought to heel so easily. Scott’s lips caressed her neck, offering pointed reminders that she only knew Emma’s pleasure secondhand, that she could experience Scott’s lovemaking for herself if only she gave in. “You… you bred her. Bloody hell… you’re going to fuck her every night until she’s finally… pregnant. She came again and again. Like a whore. _Because_ you treated her like a whore.”

 

Scott’s arms cinched around her waist, his hands slipping under her gi. One clutched the sweetly round hills of her ass, squeezing, massaging, circling, even patting as if in ownership, with Betsy sighing heavily as the pleasures of his touch sank into her unawakened flesh, revealing it as tender and sensitive under his fingers.

 

The other hand went even lower, caressing the back of her thighs, sending shudders down all of Betsy’s long legs. She wanted to jump up and wrap her legs around Scott’s waist, force her breasts to his mouth, experience all the satisfaction she had seen Emma enjoy.

 

“Don’t think you can treat me like that, mate…” Betsy muttered, barely conscious with the cacophony of pleasure exploding in her senses. She could smell Scott’s musk—her hands flowed over his face, feeling his chiseled features, the grainy shadow of his stubble. “Like your little… bitch…”

 

He smelled her hair and she was in his head, she could feel him enjoying its mango scent, feel him enjoying _her,_ relishing her as no one had in what felt like forever. This, this was what’d she’d wanted when she’d first pursued him. All the hidden passions, all the kinky desires, all the dedication and duty and studiousness, but applied to her. She wanted to be his mission.

 

She gasped like some lovesick little girl as he kissed her neck again. “Scott, I love… love this… wanted this, for so long… thought I’d never get it.” She breathed in his scent as she kissed him back, pressing her body against his, her flesh against his itchy gi. She wanted it out of the way, wanted to be skin to skin with him. Let him be shared with Emma, let him be doing this to mate with her like some wild animal in heat—she was an X-Man, her entire life was bloody well complicated, why should this be any different? All she knew was that she was happy. She’d known how compatible they would be for so long, and now finally it was like the universe had been convinced too.

 

“Then you’re okay with it?” Scott asked her, drawing her slightly out of the lust that was tingling through her body and tightening her cunt. “Breeding? And not being the only one?”

 

Betsy smiled. “We’ll see if you still want Emma after you’ve had me. And as for breeding…” She looked down again, seeing that he was either fully hard or close to it, his erection distending the crotch of his gi like a tent being put up. Emma, that poor, poor, _lucky_ girl. No wonder she’d put aside her superiority complex for that. “Try it.”

 

She doubted it would work—even Scott’s potency couldn’t compare to her birth control regiment. But if she liked the effort, she’d do the same as Emma and drop her pills. And then, well—try, try again.

 

Scott moved to kiss her again, but Betsy stopped him, laying her finger over his lips. “One thing, love. If you’re not just going to shag me—if you’re going to bloody _breed_ me—I think I’d best make sure you really have what it takes to be a daddy.”

 

“Do averted futures count? I could provide a few references that way.”

 

“Not that kind of daddy,” Betsy said.

 

In a flash, she’d put Scott through a hip toss, slamming him down on the mat and following through by straddling his head. With one hand she grasped his hair, the other fist she raised for a killing blow. And all the while, Scott’s nostrils were awash with the scent of her aroused cunt, situated just a few inches away from his face.

 

“How about it, Scott?” Betsy asked as she knelt over him. “Do you have the good sense to surrender now? Or the balls to keep fighting me? Because you’re not going to get this bint without one or the other.”


	4. Take Her Down

Scott only smiled up at Betsy. “You hit hard, Betts. But I think we can both agree that breaking my visor would be a bad move.”

 

Scott could see her brow furrow in concentration as she realized the tactical misstep she’d made, but he didn’t give her time to think her way out of the checkmate she’d backed herself into. His left hand came up in a dazzling slap, landing squarely on Betsy’s ass. She was shocked, scandalized, the English Rose totally unused to being treated so vulgarly, and she instinctively turned to her left to see who had dared lay a finger on her.

 

Scott’s right hand jammed against Betsy’s hip and shoved her off of him, rolling over her so that he was on top, belly to back. He wrenched her gi jacket back and down, so that her arms were pinned to her sides by it, then he twisted the material of the jacket to tighten its grip on Betsy. He was now straddling the small of her back, her jutting ass behind him, her strong back laid out before his groin, mostly bared, teasing him with a succulent look at the sides of her breasts. Even having seen the whole picture moments ago, it was still a huge temptation.

 

With one hand holding her makeshift straitjacket in place, Scott reached down with the other and traced his finger over the curve of Betsy’s breast, hearing her suck in air as she registered the touch. The flesh was as pert and perfect as it looked, and warm and sensitive as well. In the heat of battle, with her adrenaline raging, Betsy wasn’t used to being touched so intimately.

 

She let out a very dry British laugh. “You’re good, Scott. You’re very good. In a straight fight, I’d bugger you, but you don’t let me have a straight fight, do you?”

 

“Not much incentive for it,” Scott pointed out, equally dry.

 

Reaching behind himself, he grabbed Betsy’s loose pants by the waistband and lowered them down her sweet ass. He had a good idea of just how sweet it was from how the well-rounded cheeks bloomed out around her thong, but he wouldn’t be in this position—literally topping Psylocke—if he were all that vulnerable to temptation.

 

Instead, he watched Betsy’s face, her cheek pressed down to the mat, straining, flushed, as if she were trying to get out of a submission hold. Only Scott couldn’t feel her trying to escape. And as her waistband cleared the pert curvature of her swelling buttocks, he saw her close her eyes in rapture. A throb went through Scott’s erection. That was the real prize. Seeing the stoic, closed-off warrior realize she was being stripped naked, that there was nothing she could do about it—and that she liked it.

 

Then Betsy sucked in breath, as if remembering where she was. Maybe reading his mind had given it away. “Of course, you can’t hold me down forever. The moment I get up, what’s to stop me from ending you?”

 

“Maybe you’ll think of something better to do,” Scott intoned, running his forefinger between Betsy’s asscheeks, touching down just shy of her cunt and swiping upward until his fingertip buzzed over her anus. Betsy gasped, either thinking he was going to sodomize her—or disappointed that he hadn’t.

 

“You’re a telepath, Betsy. You must know what men think of you when you walk around, dressed the way you do. They see your big tits, your fat ass, and they get ideas. Do you enjoy knowing they can’t act on any of those dirty, nasty thoughts? Or are you hoping one of them will?”

 

Betsy took a deep breath, sensing Scott’s intent just before he struck—his hand chopping down on her bare ass with a sharp, swift slap. “Ooh!” she shrieked, feeling the blow reverberate through the weighty heft of her buttocks, making them jiggle with the same enticing flow as when she walked around in her high-heeled boots with her thong cutting between her asscheeks. Scott wondered if it felt as good for her to feel her ass shake around as it was to watch it.

 

He slapped her on the other cheek, the pain flowing into the virgin flesh and thrumming as well in the lightly reddened skin of her other buttock. Betsy opened her lips, her teeth gnashing, absorbing the pain and more, the sensation of being on display and used and controlled. She had to be thinking about how one of only two things that kept her from battering down even his formidable psi-defenses were the rules of this twisted game they were playing. And Betsy was honorable, but no fool.

 

The other thing, though, was the possibility that she enjoyed this. Enjoyed every rippling, painful smack that went through her ass as Scott held her down and spanked her.

 

He brought his hand down again, whistling through the air, but this time stopped his palm right before it impacted Betsy’s trembling buttocks. And he heard her groan.

 

“You’re a smart girl, Betsy. You know you’ve been bad.” His hand hovered closer to her. Closer. Barely shy of touching her. He knew she could feel it all the same. In a lot of ways, the closeness of his hand was more potent than his actual touch. “Trying to seduce me. Throwing yourself at me.” He lowered his voice and his hand, bringing it down to her exposed cunt, but not touching, never touching. Just letting her know that he could, while she listened to his soft, cool voice. “Maybe even thinking about me. While you touch yourself. One big loop. You show off your tits—your ass—I think about them, think about you, think about _fucking.”_ His fingers inched closer. Bare millimeters separated the tips of his callused fingers from the moisture of her pussy. He could feel her trembling. He could feel her warmth. “You read my thoughts. What I want to do to you. How I’d fuck you. And you think about it while you fuck yourself.” He curled his fingers into a fist. All but his pinky. That he laid against her cunt.

 

Betsy moaned.

 

“Does that sound naughty to you, Betsy?” Scott asked. “Something that deserves to be punished?”

 

Betsy was on the verge of orgasm. Her pussy dripping wet. Sucking at even the tiniest part of his finger. Getting off on just feeling the edge of his fingernail on her tender cunt. She drooled. “Bastard… can’t just fuck me… have to… have to be the big man…”

 

Scott dipped his pinky inside her. She clenched around it. And she tried to hold back her moan, but she couldn’t. She was too close, too hot—too naughty.

 

“You know what I like about you, Betsy? You're a dirty English slut in an innocent Asian body. So while you may love cock, your tight little cunt doesn't know what to do with it.”

 

Her cunt spasmed around her finger. If she wasn’t coming outright, she was so close to it that there was no real difference. She was gagging for it. Needing it. Needing it too much to even fight. Tears were in her eyes, sweat dotting her forehead. He whispered to her: “Even Emma didn’t drool before I put it in her.”

 

“Big man,” Betsy said angrily, though Scott imagined there wasn’t a man in the world who couldn’t see the lust she was trying to hide. As he dragged his pinky out of her, leaving her stranded on the verge of orgasm, she keened and whimpered like she was being tortured—all from being denied the touch of one little finger.

 

“Do you feel like a big man!?” Betsy demanded as soon as she recovered. Scott smiled evenly; she didn’t mean it. She was just frustrated with herself for getting so worked up, so easily. After years of being in control, both of herself and of any man who came near her, now she was at the bottom of the food chain. And, even more frustratingly, enjoying it. “Fine. _Fine._ You can get me wet. Lots of men have!”

 

Scott let out a wry chuckle. “Lots of men?”

 

Betsy colored and, for the first time, struggled against the jacket holding her arms to her sides. She nearly slipped free; Scott had to grab it with both hands. Then she was well and truly trapped. And she panted, aroused by that.

 

“Just because you can turn me on,” Betsy insisted shrilly, “doesn’t mean you can satisfy me. So go on, Scott. Fuck me. Make me come. _Have a go if you think you’re hard enough!”_

 

Scott was ready for her challenge. He ripped the jacket down her arms to her wrists, where he tied it into a firm knot, sparing a wan grin as he did so. They always called him a boy scout…

 

With Betsy securely bound, he rolled her over onto her back. She was naked from the waist up, the top of her gi now wrapped around her wrists, while her pants were down around her thighs, in the back at least. In front, they still partially covered her crotch, allowing him to see only a shock of purple hair at her pubis. Scott didn’t worry about that now. He straddled her chest, holding her down with his weight, and ripped open his pants at the seam.

 

“This hard enough?” he asked her.

 

Betsy stared with wide-eyed shock at the massive erection that whipped out of Scott’s town pants. It was twice the size of any other cock she had seen, long and thick, with fat blue veins running up and down its stolid length. His purple cockhead looked as wide around as a billiard ball.

 

Scott did not look smug as he knelt over Betsy, skinning back his foreskin, showing her all of his knob, its tip glossy with precum. Betsy was unable to speak, barely able to think, as if she were hypnotized by the mammoth prick Scott had challenged her with. But Scott’s mouth did turn upwards at the ends, in calm, collected acceptance of his victory. It was the tight-lipped smile he would wear at the end of a battle—the reassurance that his plan had been carried out successfully.

 

However she might have resented how Scott had chipped away at her defenses and stripped away her supremacy, Betsy was utterly unable to resist his trump card. Scott could almost hear his own words echoing in Betsy’s head. _You're a dirty English slut in an innocent Asian body. So while you may love cock, your tight little cunt doesn't know what to do with it._

 

But she did. She knew exactly what to do with it. And she was eager to show him her skill.

 

He thrust into her before she could gather herself, make any plans, prepare her body. She was wet enough to take him and had been for a long time. Her mouth gaped—her entire being suddenly centered around the vast penetration that had taken place, her new impalement, the subdued pain grating against almost unbearable pleasure. Betsy threw her head back, thudding it with muted bass against the exercise mat. She bit her lip and whined, not so much with what she was feeling, but with the swirl of emotions and sensations that were impossible to separate. Scott could feel her psi-shields slipping, letting out her innermost desires, her most private thoughts.

 

Scott being Scott, he had arranged schedules and curriculums so that during this part of the day, not only were they unlikely to be disturbed, but most every telepath was attending a special lecture across campus. Only Scott was there, with his keenly sensitive yet mundane mind, to divine the meaning of the psychic chaff spewing from Betsy’s stricken mind. The pathways of his psychic bonds, first to Jean, then to Emma, gave him a secondhand understanding of telepathy—like he had bridges going from his mind to the two women’s, and from those bridges he could look down and see what Betsy was pouring into the ocean.

 

It didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.

 

“You like it,” he whispered.

 

Shit yes—please—I fucking love it—please—fuck the piss out of me—

 

Scott kissed her gently on the lips, closed mouth, hoping the softness would reassure her. He was going to fuck her, hard and fast, but it wasn’t because he was a brute. It was because it was the only thing that would satisfy her. “I intend to,” he said in his commanding voice, the one he used to tell traumatized civilians that everything would be okay, and for all the insight he had into Betsy’s character, it still surprised him a little when she clenched around his cock like she had decided not to let him go.

 

He pumped into her rhythmically, rapidly, knowing the tempo would be irresistible, and it only became more pleasurable as he learned Betsy’s sensitivities, the way she liked to be touched. With her broadcasting her thoughts as she was, and him adept at gleaning Emma and Jean’s telepathy, there was no way he could be ignorant of how to please her. Soon, she was desperately clinging to him, her legs scissored around his hips as he pistoned down into her. She gasped, she wailed, but no petty sound she made could convey her lust better than how her cunt sucked at his thrusting prick.

 

“Oooooh, _Scott!”_ she shrieked with delight. “This is… wonderful… this is the greatest!”

 

“I’m just getting started,” Scott told her.

 

Betsy’s head thumped again into the exercise mat. Her eyes were worried, but her smile couldn’t be denied.

 

Now confident she could take it, Scott increased the already rapid pace he was setting. Betsy squealed and writhed, dropped suddenly into a sea of bliss. Scott grinned down at her and she tried to meet his eyes, but was only able to see a faint glimpse of them as he lustfully drilled down into her swollen cunt. He liked the thought that in trying to see him, she was only seeing her own lustful reflection in the ruby quartz. She didn’t look away. She had admitted to herself how much she loved being fucked. Her entire body shook with pleasure as Scott bore into her, leaving every single nerve in her body awash in rapture.

 

“That’s fucking,” Betsy panted—Scott thought he’d overheard another errant thought from her before realizing she’d spoken aloud. She really was out of control… stripped of everything but her lust. “That’s real fucking…”

 

“Want more?” Scott asked her, with a bit of sadism. Of course, judging from her reaction to the spanking, Betsy didn’t mind that.

 

“ _Ohhh, yes!”_ she squealed, too far gone to hold back anything. “Yes, yes, you beautiful big-cocked _blighter!_ Fuck me!”

 

Her pussy was a flood of hotly gushing juices, but it still clung tightly to his driving cock, accepting his thrusts, sucking him in, barely releasing him when he rocked his hips back to leave her. The clinging, sucking tightness of her cunt was being harshly tested as he plunged himself into her up to his balls, leaving with fat droplets of her cream dripping from his slippery length.

 

“Fuck—me—fuck!” she cried.

 

“Do you trust me?” Scott asked her.

 

The sex-crazed Betsy, once a trained ninja and skilled telepath before all reserve and logic had abandoned her, wildly threw her cunt up to meet his every brutal stroke, taking the spiking pain so long as it came with jolt after jolt of ecstasy.

 

“Trust you, I trust you,” she babbled, her convulsing pussy reaching climax, tightly stretched around his massive cock. “Keep fucking me, love! Don’t stop! Don’t ever stop!”

 

Scott didn’t stop. What he did was move his hands to her throat, wrapping them underneath her jaw, expertly digging his fingers into her pulse, her airway—too skilled to cause any damage, but leaving no possibility she was receiving any oxygen. And still his cock plunged into her, ratcheting up her ecstasy until it was all she could feel… not her dwindling air, not the numbly growing blackness, only his hands and his pleasure and his mastery of her.

 

Dark spots appeared in Betsy’s vision, marring her view of Scott’s handsome face as she strained—not to breathe, but simply to stay conscious to feel her orgasm. It was so close, right on top of her, bearing down on her. _This must be what it feels like to watch yourself be struck by lightning,_ Betsy thought nonsensically, staring at Scott’s cool smile, his grisly satisfaction in a plan coming together.

 

Her climax was glorious, only made better by the feel of his seed pumping into her, deeper than even his magnificent cock could go. The thick, hot cum warmed the walls of her cunt, pushing her into greater rapture than she would’ve thought possible. Betsy was just barely aware of Scott’s hands coming away from her throat, allowing her to gasp in air, rekindling her orgasm into a second climax right on the heels of the first. And that joy finished her off, kicking straight into her flailing mind and dropping her right out of her skull.

 

It felt heavenly.

 

***

 

Through it all, Scott didn’t feel one inkling of Betsy’s power. She didn’t try once to free herself, she didn’t panic for a moment. She trusted him implicitly. She was his. Dog collars, leashes, all the paraphernalia that Emma so delighted in—it was only a showy play-acting of the intertwined trust and obedience that Betsy had just shown him. He could only hope the orgasm that had went nova inside her as she lost consciousness was sign enough of his appreciation.

 

Scott did not dress himself after coming in Betsy. Quite the opposite. He stripped off what remained of his gi and picked Betsy up, her own body more or less naked. Some might call it a harem, but he would treat his lovers like a team, and he would never ask any of his team to do anything he wasn’t willing to do himself.

 

Besides, he had Emma watching his back. The powerful psychic simply made it so that no one between the gym and his own quarters registered seeing the leader of the X-Men and the headmistress of the Institute carting around a naked, purple-haired ninja.

 

In Scott and Emma’s shared room, Scott carried Betsy to the closet. Emma got the door for him. Scott placed her unconscious body gently inside, making sure to place her so she would sleep comfortably and wake up well-rested. Then he shut the door again. The slatted closet door, like a set of Venetian blinds, were open enough to allow her to see out, but in the darkness of the closet, Betsy would be nearly invisible.

 

Emma sat down on the bed. Perhaps out of solidarity, she was dressed no more modestly than Scott and Betsy. In fact, she wore virtually nothing. Thigh-high boots, elbow-length gloves, a cape trimmed in ermine, but on her chest and around her hips, there was nothing but a gleaming, glistening array of small diamonds strung on necklaces and body chains. They did nothing to hide her breasts, nothing to hide her cunt, the pubic hair shaved into a small, perfect diamond. Perhaps she thought the glitter of all those tiny diamonds would sparkle enough to hide her nudity. It did nothing to dissuade Scott’s ruby-shielded gaze.

 

“Well done, Mr. Summers,” Emma purred, crossing her legs to give herself just a hint of teasing modesty. Her breasts heaved impressively high, as if she were arousing herself by doing so. “I do believe you’ve fucked Betsy’s brains out. It’s a good thing she’s used to these kinds of out-of-body experiences. Perhaps this time she’ll wake up as a mulatto—that’s very trendy these days.”

 

Scott gave her a humorless glare, even while inwardly admitting that the jibe was a little funny. Oh well—if the biggest concession he made to the Dark Side while saving mutantkind was finding Emma’s bitchiness amusing, so be it. “Jealousy is unbecoming, darling.”

 

“Me? Jealous? Of being choked out by a man’s _bare hands_ like some commoner?” Emma’s lips twitched with slightly overplayed titillation. “Here in civil society, I expect you to use a silk ribbon if you want to choke me.”

 

“That’s not a bad idea,” Scott said. “I did bring Betsy here to put on a show for her.”

 

Now there was nothing at all playing about Emma’s devilish grin. “Oh, _bravo._ Paying her back for all those little shimmies and shakes she tormented you with back when you had a ginger chastity belt on.” She beat him to it: “ _Don’t talk about Jean that way,”_ she said in a passable imitation of his voice.

 

Scott grimaced. “It’s part of the plan.”

 

“You’re so good at coming up with plans, darling. And I’m so good at making them better.” Leaning over—and truly making a production of it, especially the way her breasts never seemed to quite give into gravity while also never seeming the slightest bit fake—Emma opened the nightstand.

 

In fact, Scott really only had Emma’s word that her breasts were surgically enhanced. He wondered if she had a dark enough sense of humor to lie about that, knowing all along that her triple Ds were real.

 

Emma came up with a set of silk scarves—the kind that had never been worn in public. “You want to truly drive Betsy wild?” Emma asked, relishing the prospect so much that she sounded positively masturbatory. “Imagine if she wakes up from being your incontrovertible _bitch_ to find that little ol’ _moi_ gets to tie you to the headboard and ride you like a mechanical bull? I’ll make it good for you, Scott. You have no idea the kinds of pleasure I can give you once you let me into the driver’s seat.”

 

Scott thought it over. He had broken Emma in, so to speak—he had no doubt about that. Maybe it would make a nice gesture to step back and show her that he trusted her enough to take control. He certainly had no doubt it would be every bit as blissful as Emma implied.

 

But then again… “And what would you say if I wanted to go another way?”

 

Emma’s face fell and she pouted a little, but it was hard to tell how serious she was. She stretched out on the bed, holding her hands against the headboard, a scarf pulled tight between them. “I _suppose_ I could let you be on top and I’d… _try_ to enjoy myself. Maybe it would make Betsy feel better, seeing that even her social and cultural superior bends the knee—and stretches the cunt—for her fearless leader.” Emma’s eyebrows were working overtime, implying both the unseemly pleasures in store for Scott if he decided to top her _and_ how much more he’d enjoy himself if he let her have her way. The woman barely needed telepathy; she could conduct a symphony with her sultry facial expressions.

 

Scott had to admit, he was hardening already, even though it’d felt like he’d drained himself in Betsy’s exquisitely suckling cunt. But there was the plan to consider. And the one thing Emma enjoyed more than a good fuck, whether on top or on bottom, was being truly dominated—driven to the edge of madness before finally being satisfied. For all her virtues, Emma couldn’t shed herself of the pristine persona she’d created, her diamond edges. But if someone could do that for her… strip her down to a wild animal of lust and desire, and satisfy her while she was no more than the wanton whore she had once been in the Hellfire Club’s brothel…

 

Well, that was why Scott had Jean’s number on speed dial.

 

He had accounted for Emma bringing out the silk—she had the damn things in the nightstand, after all. But he’d gone into this with no intention of actually satisfying her. After binding her securely, gagging her, even putting an inhibitor collar on her to make her truly powerless… only then would he invite Jean in. They would make love in front of a hapless Emma while Betsy Braddock watched in her own voyeuristic frustration. All three of them would end up his mates, his lieutenants in this new X-team…

 

But was that plan too complicated? Too many moving parts, too many variables? Should he settle for ushering Betsy into this ‘harem’ of his by showing her there was no disgrace in submission? And if so, would seeing him let Emma on top destroy Betsy’s respect for him or would it show her he could set his ego aside and give his partner what they wanted? Or did Emma need to dominate at all? Could it be what she really wanted was for him to confirm, once and for all, that she was his property, his bitch, his slut as much as she was his lover?

 

“How about it, Scott?” Emma asked, biting a silk ribbon between her teeth and pulling at either end, making a spectacle of herself that had his erection leaping back to life. “Are you done being a leader yet? Ready to leave Auntie Emma in charge?”

 

Bad habit to get into, vacillating between this decision and that. He would have to cut his choices down to the best option and go from there.


	5. Bring In Jean

At times like this—deciding just how he wanted to screw Emma Frost, literal royalty in the only monarchy that mattered outside of Asgard, if he didn’t want to pass her up for another insanely beautiful woman—Scott found it something of a misnomer how introverted he was. He didn’t consider himself a Casanova by any means… that was more Gambit’s line… and yet, the Cajun womanizer himself was mixed up with Rogue exclusively these days. Logan was probably the biggest ladies’ man in the X-men these days, and with him being unkempt, rude, and frequently smelling of things unmentionable, he was even less likely a charmer than Scott.

 

There was a curiously intimate distance that he kept women at, but he managed to relate to them that way. Perhaps that was why so many psychics seemed to enjoy his company—craving a break from the cacophony of unfettered emotions and strongly felt feelings that other minds carried. He could be tender, he did open up, but there was comfort in having boundaries, breathing room—even in having a sexual relationship where their passion could be expressed through slaps, biting, whips, and chains as much as kisses and embraces.

 

Emma, Jean, Betsy—they were powerful, almost ridiculously strong women, and they could have any amount of fawning attention they wanted… if that was what they wanted. So what was perhaps most alluring to them was a man who could resist their charms, a man they could respect, a man who could even take away their power and leave only the calm assurance of his command. Scott was under no illusion of being the most powerful X-man, but when it came to willpower, his mind was every bit one of the diamonds that Emma loved so much.

 

“Emma,” Scott said gently, “do you really think you can dress up like that and not get fucked?”

 

Emma had a peculiar way of smiling, snarling while she was charmed. As frustrated as she was by his idealism—and other unsavory aspects of his personality—they’d long ago come to terms with each other being the way they were. She laid back and gripped the posts of the headboards. “You'd better make this worth my while, Summers.”

 

She stretched out full length on the bed, flexing her prettily painted toes, showing off the white gold luster of her tanned yet perfectly pale skin, with a glissando of chimes from the tiny diamonds that were her only real adornment.

 

Scott climbed onto the bed on his knees, taking her left hand and kissing the pale wrist, then pushing it to the headboard and locking it there with a silk scarf, tying it in a stiff knot. “Boy Scout,” Emma said bemusedly, though Scott didn’t know if she was talking about the kiss or the knot.

 

He took her other arm and stretched it out in the opposite direction, tying it up so tight that its knot almost burned her skin, but the fabric was in the end too soft for that. She had chosen her materials exquisitely well. They wouldn’t do the job for him; Scott would have to punish her himself.

 

She liked that. You weren’t really a bad girl without being punished—every hero knew that. And if a good guy like Scott punished her, then that meant she’d really been naughty.

 

The knot cut into Emma’s soft flesh, tighter, tighter, until Scott was sure it wouldn’t release her at all. But he ran his sensitive fingers tenderly along Emma’s wrist, making sure the knot wasn’t so tight that it would cut off her circulation. He didn’t want the materials to hurt her either—not when he could do it. Emma wondered sometimes if that was simple Scott Summers pride in his work or if he relished being cruel to her the way she hoped he did.

 

Tying Emma up, her arms outstretched, her breasts sprawled across her chest without a hint of artificiality besides the sheer unlikelihood of their massive heft, made her seem even more naked than she had been, vulnerable and wanting in a way most would never see her. It wasn’t the first time they had experimented with bondage by any means, but before, Emma’d had the veneer of playing a part. She wasn’t _really_ submitting to him, only pretending, but now she couldn’t maintain the lie that it was a lie.

 

He was the leader, the headmaster, the husband, and she was subservient to him—his right-hand woman, her mission in life to carry out his will. It was bracing to acknowledge that. This was no longer a marriage of convenience… it was a battle of wills that Emma had graciously lost. The pleasures of being Scott Summers’ consort were greater than the pleasures of independence, and she indulged in them as greedily as she ever gratified herself.

 

“You know what I’ve heard?” Scott asked Emma, moving to tie her feet in the same spread-eagle configuration as her hands—forming an X with her body. “That psychologists must be psychoanalyzed themselves. Do you do that, Emma? Have someone get inside your head?”

 

“Oh no, most therapists are _far_ too gauche to appreciate my mentality. If I am insane, I most certainly have my reasons,” Emma said, supplely preening in her new confinement. She had the feline ability to make any situation seem as if it were her own idea and she was enjoying it immensely. Scott was so amused by this that he almost wasn’t going to break her of it.

 

“As team leader, I’m pretty good at reading people.” Scott pulled on Emma’s left leg, stretching it out to its fullest extension, pulling his lover taut like she was on the rack before he began tying her ankle to the bedpost. “You’re drawn to power. Almost entranced by it. Sebastian Shaw, Jean Grey… you’re like a moth with a candle. You can’t stay away.”

 

“And now Scott Summers,” Emma purred. “King of the X-Men.”

 

“But at the same time, you resent anyone who has power over you. You refuse to submit. You scheme and plot to take power for yourself. Supplanting Shaw. Controlling Jean. Trying to be the power behind the throne with me.” Scott finished tying Emma’s right leg. She was helpless now, though her eyes shone with amusement. She still had her mind—the greatest defense of all. “In other words, you’re a willful little slut.”

 

Emma smirked. “If I made things too easy for you, you might as well be dating Betsy.”

 

For a woman tied, naked and spread-eagled, across a bed, it was amazing how prepossessed Emma looked, how confident she was in her nakedness, her defenselessness, her invulnerable sense of self. In a way, it was flattering. Out of all the people in her life, the superheroes she palled around with on a daily basis, she trusted Scott not to hurt her—or to hurt her, but also to know how she liked to be hurt.

 

In another way, it was a challenge. She was showing him that it would take more than a little nudity, a few manacles, to get to her. She wanted him to break her, to take her to that level beyond love and hate that she would only let him bring her to, and Emma held him to an exacting standard on that account. She wouldn’t settle for a few spankings, some choking, being called a whore or a slut. She wanted to be deflowered, not of her innocence, but of her cynicism and bitterly sardonic shell. She wanted to be his virgin, in pain if not in pleasure.

 

Scott, of course, had a plan for that.

 

He opened up another drawer in the nightstand. Emma had her silk scarves. He had an inhibitor collar.

 

“I got it in white,” he told Emma, and watched her delicate throat flex. She had gulped.

 

But her shaken confidence quickly returned. She eyed Scott probingly, willing to meet his challenge brashly for all her delicate poise. “If only it came with a leash,” she teased.

 

Scott looped the collar around her throat, careful to the point of gentleness. He tightened it precisely, making sure Emma would not be able to get it off, that she would be reminded of its metal confines at all times, but he did nothing to cut off her breathing or even abrade her skin. Then he powered it on—Emma gasped slightly. Her eyes closed, moved thickly behind her eyelids, and then she winced as if in pain. If Scott didn’t miss his guess, he’d suppose she was testing whether her powers could get through the inhibitor’s effects. Probably even trying to change to her diamond form.

 

But it did nothing. She was truly helpless now. She couldn’t psi-blast him if he displeased her or shift into diamond to break free. And Scott saw flickers of misgiving cross her face. Trust or no, Scott had enough issues to know that Emma could be uncomfortable with this—even too uncomfortable to enjoy the degradation she otherwise craved.

 

He played his fingers over the secured collar, toying with the clasp. “Did I hear a safe word?” he asked idly, making it sound like no more than a curious question, as he looked Emma in the eyes intently enough for her to feel it through his ruby quartz.

 

Emma faced him. She smiled a little ruefully, acknowledging the discomfort, the trust, her own gratitude to him for giving her an out. It passed between them so effusively that their psychic bond could’ve been in operation. “I still know what you're thinking,” she said.

 

“Next time I’ll invest in a gag.”

 

“If you can’t give me something to talk about, by all means.”

 

Anal beads were next. Scott briskly coated them in lube, then massaged the same into the rosebud of Emma’s anus, circling his fingers around and around her hole, gently teasing his fingertip inside, widening her, readying her, making her nostrils flare and her breathing coarsen as she wanted to beg, but refused to. And without her psychic powers, she had no way of knowing when he would give her what she wanted, or even if she would get her precious anal stimulation.

 

“You know what makes me curious?” Scott asked, letting her feel the first marble-sized bead against her anus now that his lubricating massage had made it so sweetly tender, ready to receive the round intrusion inside. “You love taking it up at the ass, but you hate giving blowjobs.” Now Scott pushed the bead in earnest, stretching Emma’s sphincter around the furthest reaches of its roundness, suspending her with her anus as wide as it would go. “If it were me, I’d think sucking a dick would be easier than being an anal whore.”

 

He pushed the bead inside her, Emma groaning as she felt its heft inside her rectum, knowing that was only the first drop in an ocean.

 

“Maybe your cock doesn’t taste as good as you think it does,” she replied with a contorted expression.

 

Scott smiled and started to push the next bead inside, slowly, carefully, but stopped, taking the pressure of his fingers away, letting her anus expel the bead. “Jean liked it just fine.”

 

“Jean doesn’t have my refined pah—“ Emma lapsed into cross-eyed ecstasy, pained by tension, as Scott pushed the bead all the way inside her in one go. “Palate!” she finished with a deep whoop of breath. “You bastard… don’t interrupt me when I’m—“ She felt him pressing the next bead through her rosebud. “Fucking bastard!” she cursed as it went in.

 

“Remember, next time I’ll gag you.” Scott let go of the beads to draw his hand back. “And tie you up on your belly instead of your back.” He brought his palm down on her hip to show her why—the impact smacking her ass, but not taking full advantage of the roundness of her buttocks. Still, it sent shockwaves through her rectum, made her clench, and the beads reacted against her pain, turning it into pleasure that brought her to the brink of orgasm.

 

“ _Ghhhh!”_ Emma moaned. “God… you… you fucking _man!_ I’d once have a peasant like you flogged for treating me that way.”

 

“Weird way to show your gratitude.” Scott pushed forward with the next bead, letting his fingers brush against the blazing red handprint he had left—Emma wincing and clenching as the lingering pain ran headlong into her slow pleasure. “I suppose Jean is just a cock-hungry whore and you’re not.”

 

“It all depends on… what cock I’m hungry for…” Emma panted, a heated sweat giving the lie to her usual wintry countenance. It made her pale flesh gleam with a pure splendor the diamond body jewelry couldn’t hope to match.

 

“And where you’re hungry for it.” Scott was giving it to her rapidly now, adding one bead after another, each one a little bigger than the last. But Emma was showing no signs of pained difficulty. On the contrary, she was taking her sodomy easier than ever, hips twitching, rolling, beseeching him for more with her body.

 

Scott had a somewhat uncharitable thought involving Hungry Hungry Hippos and was glad Emma had the inhibitor collar on. It was the kind of inner monologue that, if not squelched by mental discipline, could ruin the mood and get him banished to the couch.

 

Although with her ass now about to gulp down the last of the beads before the stopper at the end, Scott guessed him being on the couch at the moment would be more of a punishment for her than for him.

 

“What… about… you?” Emma asked, gasping for breath now, barely able to speak when every little movement jostled the beads inside her. She’d worked herself up too much, tried too hard to control herself, and now she was in a downward spiral of tension and repression and pleasure and no release.

 

“What about me, dear?” Scott asked, sickeningly obsequious while Emma was right on the verge of coming.

 

“Look… at me… look at… my body…” Emma practically hyperventilated, every heaving breath making her curves jiggle and quake. For all her years as a dancer, she couldn’t make her body move better than that. “You could have me… right now… but you just have to… fucking top me… _sadist!”_

 

Scott only smiled at her. “You like sadists. You think we’re fun.”

 

Emma licked her lips quickly. “I told you… I don’t need powers to read your mind…”

 

Scott teased her by not teasing her, giving her what she wanted, as he pushed the final bead inside of her, the pressure like teeth working on a jawbreaker. Emma crooned, her eyes rolling back in her head, and Scott could see how she wanted to orgasm her pussy clenching, her hips twitching in a desperate reenactment of a fuck, promising rapture to any man if he would only lie on top of her.

 

Emma managed to get herself under control, her climax denied once more, but her resolve enough that she could almost make it look like she didn’t want it to come screaming back with every fiber in her body. “You’re going to… get me all worked up… make me desperate to come… then leave me like this while you go fetch Jean,” she continued. “And when I’m all hot and bothered, I’ll be so horny that you’ll just have to bring her in and I’ll be humping her leg like a bitch in heat. Then you’ll have both of us.”

 

“I like to think it’s elegant in its simplicity,” Scott said.

 

“Of course it’ll work, you damned fool, _look at the way I dress._ I’m a whore. But there’s no need to go overboard.” She craned her neck to look Scott in the eye, biting her lip with her juices running out of her womanhood like it was a pot about to boil over. “Fuck me. Make me come. Then play your games. It won’t make any difference. And it’ll be so much fun.” She smiled lovingly, innocently, like she wasn’t strapped to a bed with nothing but diamonds on and seven anal beads up her ass. “Promise I’ll be on my best behavior with Jean. You know I’m always a good girl when I’m stuffed full of cum.”

 

“Maybe I have plans for your cunt. Plans that don’t involve it being full of my seed,” Scott said. “And look at the way _I_ dress. Do I not look like a fan of delayed gratification?”

 

“ _Scoooott,”_ Emma keened. “I don’t beg men to fuck me. I just don’t.”

 

“Maybe you should,” Scott retorted. “And maybe I shouldn’t go to Jean smelling of your cunt.”

 

“If she doesn’t like my cunt, this threesome doesn’t have much of a future.”

 

“And Betsy could wake up at any minute.”

 

“Do you need that long to make me come?”

 

“It’ll be even better if you wait.”

 

“Then why don’t we just save ourselves for marriage?” Emma snarled. “My cunt. Your cock. Now!”


	6. Leave Emma Wanting More

Scott unzipped his fly and pulled his cock out to let Emma see it. Her eyes went wide; shocked once more at his size and what’s more, how _ready_ he was. He crawled onto the bed, rising over her until they were face to face. He could see from the frenzied look in her eyes, the expression on her face that stopped just short of begging, how much she wanted it. There was no point in lubing her up. She was too aroused to need it.

 

He pressed into her, her cunt snapping shut on his cockhead almost as though it were trying to keep him out. Slowly, steadily, he fed himself into Emma’s sex, watching the change go over her as she went from a poised dilettante to a cock-hungry whore—giving into the sheer need he could feel inside her pussy, burning at his prick, sucking at his cum.

 

Quivers went through her voluptuous body, her breasts jiggling particularly attractively on her chest, while her expression wobbled, twisted, caught between pain, satisfaction, and a keen desire for more. Furthermore, he could feel her desperation through their psychic link, her thoughts like an echo of his, only with no original sound to produce them. She enjoyed the thickness of his cock as much as he enjoyed the tightness of her sex, and it was almost agony not to give in and drive all of himself into her, relish all of her tightly clasped pussy at once, and begin the frenetic movements of their fucking. Thrusting into her for however many hours he decided she could take before she’d earned his cum.

 

“Say it,” Scott told her. “Beg.”

 

The White Queen might’ve refused, but moony-eyed, open-mouthed, this slut he’d revealed her as was only too willing to give in. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmeFUCKME--!”

 

Fitfully he gave Emma his last few inches, leaving her nearly orgasmic by the time he slid into her up to his hilt, her sapphire eyes rolled back in her head, her lips twitching with the demands she could no longer utter. Scott himself groaned, feeling her tightening around him, washing his cock with her juices. Her entire pussy was his, as snug around his cock as if it were built for him, massaging him with masterful pressure—both serving him and urgently demanding his seed with a servile brattishness that was so perfectly _Emma_ he nearly hurt with affection for her.

 

He held himself inside her, letting Emma clench on the hardness of his cock as if in disbelief, her active hips unwinding against his stationary ones like she was opening a dance, trying to entice him to join in by beginning the motions that would bring them both so much pleasure. Her cunt gulping his prick, swallowing and relinquishing it in perfect measure, and cajoling him to thrust into her and complete their togetherness. Move and countermove. Rhythm and beat.

 

Emma’s perfectly full lips formed a dazzling smile, aimed up at him both in gratitude for getting her way and anticipation of him giving in further. “You know you want to, Scott. You know how good it feels. Now _really_ fuck me. I didn’t ask for just your cock, after all. I asked to be fucked.”

 

She leaned up to kiss his square chin, her entire body quivering around his penetration of her. Her breath heaved her cleavage up against his chest, then broke sweetly over his face as she exhaled.

 

“Give me what I want.”

 

Scott looked down at her, the single red eye of his visor unreadable. “What about what I want?

 

“Yes, yes—“ Emma turned her head to the side, baring her throat, showing him her perfectly cut profile, surrendering to him while her pussy kept up its wonderful invitation, her hips pumping weakly up to him as if taunting Scott to show her how he could _really_ thrust into her. “Take what you want.”

 

“What I want,” Scott said, lowering his lips to her exposed throat, stopping an inch from her visibly racing pulse, “is to fuck Jean while I’m wet from your cunt. To have so much of your juices _dripping off me_ that I won’t need any lube. To have her swallow you along with my cock… when I fuck her beautiful face.”

 

He pulled himself away from her, all of him, from his cock to his face. Emma moaned and keened, begging him to stop, rattling against her bindings as she tried to free herself—“No-no-no-no-no”—but Scott didn’t let up. Even as Emma threw her groin up to his, savoring every last moment of his slowly withdrawing cock, impaling herself on it as many times as she could in a sprint for orgasm. Scott could feel it brewing, the pleasure of it pouring into her mind, about to overflow; but the more he pulled away, the less of his cock there was for Emma to fuck herself on.

 

Finally, he was entirely outside of her, his weighty erection slapping against his thigh as he let it weaken—still with the heft of a sword in a scabbard. Emma rolled her hips some more, desperately trying to conjure up something to fill her, but it was useless. Her ass fell back to the bed and she quaked, this time in anger.

 

Scott came up to straddle her waist, folding his arms over his chest, his thighs holding down her still-twitching lower body. He looked at her with his coolly burning eyes. The link between them was still open. He could feel Emma’s arousal growing.

 

“You bastard,” Emma said, her voice shaking with emotion. “I should kill you. I should fucking kill you. Maybe when you come back—son of a bitch—you’ll show some respect…”

 

Scott smiled humorlessly down at her. “Why? You loved every second of my disrespecting you.”

 

“You’re the worst fuck I’ve ever had,” Emma dared. “I wish I’d fucked your brother. I wish I’d fucked _Logan._ Oh, no wonder your wife keeps leaving you!”

 

Scott’s jaw muscle twitched and Emma knew she had gone too far. But she didn’t have the humility to take it back. She had to own it. She eyed Scott challengingly as he crawled over her body to plant his knees in her armpits. A part of her hoped that he would find her across their psychic link, see how she regretted the jibe, but she couldn’t back down.

 

Taking hold of his cock, he slapped her across the face with it, knocking her head to the side. He held her in place by the hair and brought his erection down on her cheek repeatedly, like he was pounding a nail home with a hammer. Emma knew, _knew,_ that she was his. Scott would only bother to discipline his woman. Anyone else he would release. It was the only comfort she had as the humiliation mounted, the discomfort, the certain knowledge that she had no power beyond the restraint of Scott’s inviolable decency. He might punish her, but he would never do anything so rash as to damage his property.

 

“I should prop that dirty mouth open,” Scott said, his voice a threat. “I should fuck your throat until it’s worn raw. I should come on your face until I don’t have to _look at it_ anymore. I should choke you until you have bruises for _days,_ and when anyone looks at you, they’ll know you were the filthy whore that enjoyed it. You would enjoy it. Wouldn’t you? And that’s why I’m not going to do it. I’m going to leave you here and let you think on if you want to be a good girl for me or a bad girl. Good girls get _fucked._ Bad girls get to watch.”

 

Emma had never been closer to begging than she had been at that moment. She sincerely wanted to apologize to him—at least as much as she wanted to get fucked, even. But however much she needed his cock, needed _him,_ she already had her pride and she would not let it go now, not one scrap of it.

 

She met his eyes as much as possible through the wall of ruby quartz. “Use your hand, you little poof.”

 

His hand jerked back, then flew across her face. Pain flared over her cheek, a dark red mark marring the pale perfection of her face. Her lip was impregnated with bitter pain as well—it’d torn, a trickle of blood soaking her mouth, even hotter than the rest of her. A diamond didn’t burn in a furnace. It only heated up.

 

Tears welled in Emma’s eyes involuntarily. Scott swiped one up with his thumb and tasted it. Emma could see his manhood respond, the knob pulling free of the foreskin, throbbing over her as it leaked precum onto her features. Scott seized her by the throat and held her still a moment longer, rubbing his cock over her face, smearing her with cum and spit and her own arousal, her make-up becoming a fright mask, running mascara, smeared lipstick. But he pulled his cock away before he’d rubbed too much off on her. He was saving it for Jean, she knew.

 

Scott tucked himself away, zipped up, then wiped her lips with the back of his hand. Emma’s tongue lapsed out and licked the blood away. For a moment of silent communion, Emma could see she was forgiven. Scott wouldn’t punish her if he didn’t think she could be good. She wouldn’t enjoy it if she didn’t know he could be bad.

 

“I’m going to go find you a gag,” Scott said, pressing his fist against her mouth, one last kiss of her own saliva and blood, leaving her lips a vampiric red. “One you won’t like the taste of.”

 

***

 

Lorna Dane looked out at the car window at the storefront the red light had stopped them next to and gazed almost lustfully at the mannequin on display. Black jacket, black blouse, shorts, fishnets, and big punkish boots. It would look just _hellacious_ with her green hair.

 

She turned her head the other way, looking at Alex Summers in the driver’s seat. She thought of dressing up in that for him. It would surprise the fuck out of him, maybe give him the biggest hard-on of their marriage—or he might think she looked cheap, slutty. Alex could be so passionate, so rebellious. But he wasn’t always the most adventurous. He wasn’t an X-Men after all. They always made love in bed, usually with him on top, usually in the dark. He didn’t like taking her from behind and while he seemed to enjoy blowjobs well enough, they’d been married a full year before Lorna had ventured to get down on her knees and indulge her own curiosity on the subject.

 

And she’d never once told him how she fantasized about being fucked in the ass. He’d be shocked if he knew she was even more curious about that than she had been about oral sex. No, Lorna was the broken bird, the fragile bipolar girl, and she shouldn’t be subjected to Alex’s vile sexual urges—even if it was Lorna who wanted to have her breasts fucked, Alex coming all over her face and hair alike, finally making her green hair match her pale skin…

 

The car jolted into motion. Lorna put her thoughts aside. It was probably best not to get too excited. She was in recovery, everyone kept telling her, and she had to take things slow. That’s why they’d ‘retired’ to this small town, with no bigger responsibilities than running a store and living their lives. But what was she recovering _for_ except to be a good wife—maybe one day a good mother? And Alex certainly wanted to be a good husband. So why couldn’t she dress a certain way and have him treat her a certain way?

 

She wondered if Alex’s brother had this problem with his… whatever Emma was. Frost was a crazy bitch, certainly, but Lorna had a hard time believing Scott restrained himself to missionary sex for fear she’d go back to the Hellfire Club. Shit, with Emma, the first thing boring sex would do was drive her back to that supervillain strip club…

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Alex said.

 

Lorna smirked. Marital issues or not, Alex just had to flash that grin and make those little jokes and she was utterly smitten. Was it any wonder she’d magnet-fuck anyone who hurt him? Or touched him? Or tried to take him away?

 

“You know us girls,” Lorna replied, thinking back to dark fishnets on pale skin. “Fashion.”

 

“Maybe we could open a boutique if the shop keeps doing well,” Alex suggested. “You’ve had some pretty nice costumes over the years.”

 

“A manic episode can lead you to pull off some real crazy outfits,” Lorna retorted. “I don’t know how the sane people do it. Remember that bikini thing Storm wore?”

 

“You’re plenty sane,” Alex said seriously. “Storm’s the one who keeps fighting giant robots. And calling herself a goddess.”

 

“I don’t know—she really pulls off that biki—“

 

Alex jammed on the brakes. Lorna was thrown forward, having to stop herself by repelling against the metal in the car’s frame.

 

“Alex! What the—“

 

She stopped, seeing what Alex had seen. The store was… in ruins. Windows broken, merchandise scattered across the floors. The closed/open sign hung in a door that was partially knocked off its hinges, one of many graffiti tags strewn across it. This one read MUTIE GO HOME.

 

***

 

There Jean was. The girl Scott had been in love with since he’d known girls as more than boys who could wear skirts and dresses. A simple, uncomplicated love, neither pushed to the side nor pulling to the lead now that Emma had a place in his heart, but simply there. Part of him.

 

Something refreshing about the surge of warm, unreserved emotion he felt looking at her, even though he knew intellectually that there was nothing simple about any of this. She’d died and come back, pushed him away and pulled him back. He knew that things had changed, but had they changed so much that what they’d once had was now transmuted into lead? Or was it still gold?

 

Complications. Between time travel, space travel, and Congressional hearings, Scott would’ve thought love and sex would be a cinch, but they remained vexing. Even his _timing_ was complex. He was looking through the door to Jean’s classroom, where she was monitoring the students as they took a test—the powerful telepath easily able to discern any kind of cheating. Of course, it seemed rude to interrupt. But how long could he wait before Emma worked her way free—in the hopes of her disobedience netting her a more satisfying punishment—or before Betsy woke up?

 

Could he afford to wait or was it better to be bold, imperious, challenging Jean openly on her home turf? That almost seemed more the kind of move Emma would go for… but with all the changes in their lives, Jean might have more in common now with Emma than she didn’t.

 

He was still hard from Emma. He wanted to fuck Jean so badly, it felt like he finally understood how she’d talked about having the Phoenix burning inside of her. Maybe that was what Jean wanted from him—what she’d found so engaging about Logan. Nothing from the intellect. Just raw, uncaring sex. At that moment, he would’ve gladly fucked Jean in front of each and every one of her students. What were the odds that Jean would enjoy being more scandalous than Emma Frost for once…?


	7. Do Jean Now

Scott spared one last look at Jean. She was the Phoenix—not just Death but Life, Destroyer as well as Creator—and appropriately enough, she struck him as the polar opposite to Emma. Emma flaunted her power, her sexuality, her beauty, everything in her arsenal. Jean tried to downplay it, as though she could be modest about coming back from the dead. As beautiful as ever, she wore a wool cardigan over a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, her blazing hair in a bun that actually managed to be demure, a tartan skirt coming down to her knees, her pearly white stockings, reminding Scott of the schoolgirl who had grown up alongside him. He’d loved her then. He loved her now. Even dressed like a librarian, repudiating all the fire of the Dark Phoenix, she tempted him as strongly as Emma ever had. Scott had no choice. He could either be traded between the two women, fought over like a poker chip, or he could come up with a plan to satisfy everyone.

 

He’d come up with a plan to defeat Dracula once.

 

Scott charged into Jean’s classroom, each foot falling with its own heavy import. On the one hand, there was the famous drive he was known for—the leader of the X-Men, the crusader, the heir to Xavier and the point of the spear for all mutantkind. He may have been amoral, he may have been ruthless, but there was an efficiency to him that couldn’t be denied. He only had to decide on the best course of action and he took that route like floodwaters raging downstream.

 

But as if that weren’t enough, there was the man himself. The blue eyes long since buried under his ruby quartz visor, guarded by his mutant power. Even with the force that constantly smoldered in them, ready to be released into destruction, they still looked lovingly at Jean.

 

For months since her return, they had been on the outs. She was unsure of what to make of his relationship with Emma, while feeling adrift herself. Unsure who she was, how much of her was the Phoenix and how much was Jean, how she felt about Scott and who it was that was even feeling whatever it was she felt.

 

Emotion, frustration, friction—it all added up to a passion that was rarely seen in Scott and Jean responded to the telepathic vibe coming off him like the tingle of ozone before a storm.

 

“Scott,” Jean greeted, irritated by the intrusion but also bemused. It seemed like her wry eyes could never be truly angry with him. The Dark Phoenix and her very real wrath seemed like something that had happened a million years ago. “You kinda caught me in the middle of something.”

 

Scott glanced sidelong at the students: heads down, scrawling on their test papers, but obviously straining to catch what was being said. The Stepford Cuckoos weren’t even hiding it. Emma’s little monsters had, of course, finished their test early.

 

“Let’s talk privately,” Scott said.

 

Jean sighed. “And they say I get you into trouble.” She looked out at the students and when she spoke, her voice seemed to echo—both inside their heads and out. “Class, you’re to focus on your work and pay no attention to Scott. He’s not even here.”

 

And like that, the classroom forgot all about Scott. As far as their young minds were concerned, he wasn’t there.

 

Scott half-grinned. It was funny. Jean and Emma were so different, but they were hardly the Madonna and whore so many of the X-Men liked to see them have. Jean was as willing to be ruthless as Emma, she just coated it in moral rectitude—telling herself it was for the greater good. Scott supposed Emma did too… but Frost made it abundantly clear that she considered herself a very large part of that greater good. Jean was either less self-aware or more, but she was definitely on a different level than Emma.

 

“I don’t recall putting in an application for your harem,” Jean said, still amused, but her eyes now flashing dangerously. It was possible Scott had made a misstep in hiding this conversation from the students. Jean had no reason to censor herself. “Are you here headhunting?”

 

“More or less,” Scott admitted.

 

“I can taste them on you,” Jean said. “Emma… Betsy… you do have a type. Do you really need three of a kind?”

 

“They have a type in me too,” Scott told her. “Why do you think that is?”

 

“A strong jawline and an excuse to wear sunglasses at night,” Jean teased.

 

“You think it’s a coincidence that all the psychics on the team seem to have a thing for me?”

 

“I think you must be the first person in history to fish for compliments telling you you have a great personality.”

 

“I wouldn’t say I have a great personality,” Scott said darkly.

 

Jean tsked. “Typical. Every guy on this team secretly wants to be emo. Guess that visor hides a lot of eyeliner.”

 

“It’s not that,” Scott insisted. “You, Emma, Betsy—you have something else in common. You’re all ruthless.”

 

“And you are too?” Jean asked. She looked out at the classroom. “Eyes on your own paper, Jerome.”

 

“I’m cynical, and I act accordingly. It seems like that puts us in the same boat. Maybe it’s because you can see how many times people are operating in good faith and how many times they aren’t.”

 

Jean smiled ruefully—a little dazzled by Scott’s insight into her. As awkward as he had been as a teen, the moment he’d gotten those ruby quartz shades, he’d never stopped looking through them. Never stopped seeing. “You should hear a person’s thoughts when they find out I’m a mutant. And being a beautiful woman doesn’t help either.”

 

“I can imagine.”

 

“You can’t,” Jean said simply. Her weak smile finally gave up and became a scowl. “What point are you trying to get to? You’re a good leader, Scott, but inspiring speeches have never been your forte.”

 

“No,” Scott agreed. “But as I said, the three of you have a lot in common. You’re strong, both physically and mentally. Almost unbelievably powerful, in fact. With good hearts, good morals. Even Emma,” he headed her off, watching with some satisfaction as Jean closed her parted lips without getting a word in edgewise. “But you’re ruthless, you have to be—you know the kind of thinking we’re going up against, better than anyone.”

 

“Maybe not better than a man who had Apocalypse in his head,” Jean allowed, meeting Scott’s eyes. She could almost make them out in their semi-translucent prison.

 

“He fit in better than I would like,” Scott admitted in turn. “We all have the power, we have the will—we worry constantly both about going too far _and_ what would happen if we don’t go far enough, while having so much power that there’s precious few others the responsibility can land on. That’s a lot of pressure to be under.” He smiled confidently at Jean. “Maybe that’s why you like being treated like cock-hungry whores. And I love fucking each and every one of you like the bitches you are.”

 

Jean colored, flushing so hard that Scott could tell even in his little ruby-quartz world, but he had known her too long to think it was embarrassment. Jean was aroused—the mindless background noise of shuffling papers and scratching pencils reminding her that she was being watched, if not seen. Hearing Scott talk dirty to her under those circumstances was a touch right to her clit. She relished the possibility of being naughty, being bad, while worrying she’d go fully Dark Phoenix. It was still more pressure on her—pressure that demanded release no matter what Jean’s overcompensating prudishness insisted upon.

 

“So that’s what you propose? Fucking me like a cock-hungry whore? Making me your little bitch?” Jean asked. Her voice was deathly even—trying too hard to stay level. Like a flame burning blue instead of red. It only seemed cooler.

 

Scott grinned wider. Normally, he wouldn’t let himself seem so brash, but Jean could read his thoughts… knew he was exactly as confident as he presented himself. “You may not know this, but to the outside world, Emma isn’t such a slut. In fact, she’s considered a humanitarian.”

 

“I think we’re discovering another reason for me to be a cynic.”

 

“But when she lets her hair down, takes off the glasses, takes off _everything,_ she’s all woman. She’s under a lot of pressure, being headmistress of the Institute, owner of Frost Industries, second-in-command of the X-Men. When I’m telling her what to do, how to fuck, everything she worries about just goes away. You’ve probably noticed her thinking changing. Last week, she had a vote go against her at a shareholder meeting. Afterward, two solid hours of sucking and fucking, then she was walking on sunshine.”

 

“You don’t have to sell me on fucking you,” Jean said with a wary smile. “I remember how good it was. I can even tell how much you want to. With the way you want me, there’s no way it wouldn’t be… a lot. Maybe even too much…”

 

“You like too much,” Scott reminded her pointedly.

 

“So does the Phoenix. Are you going to dom the Phoenix?”

 

“For you? It’d be worth it.”

 

Jean grinned with the smitten smile of the schoolgirl he’d first met. “And children? You really want to bring kids into this world? Not just Sentinels and the Brotherhood, but with you keeping a _harem?_ God—Emma Frost as a mother.”

 

“She is good with kids,” Scott pointed out. “And you’ve seen Nathan, Rachel. We have a good track record for people who technically don’t have kids.”

 

Jean’s shoulders shook as she suppressed a laugh. “You’ve got me there… maybe it’s the Phoenix talking, but I could stand to be in a harem if you’re the one I’m feeding grapes to. It sounds fun. Maybe that’s how I get around all this—flame. Instead of being jealous of other women, just relish the… experience of it all. Shit, I’ve wanted Betsy’s ass for years… not like that…”

 

“A little like that.” Scott grinned, showing his approval of the idea. Given Emma and Betsy were already in his little harem, Jean could well imagine he’d gotten a taste for it.

 

She’d never been that liberal herself—a schoolgirl dalliance with the Scarlet Witch aside, and crushing hard on Storm, but everyone had done that. She imagined it’d be a great deal of fun to finally dive in. Emma had relished having power over her as the White Queen, back when Mastermind had been controlling her, and the only thing that assuaged Jean’s resentment over that was the knowledge that, with some little-used feminist leanings, Emma had forbade anyone from taking advantage of Jean’s brainwashed state beyond using her for her power. Under Scott’s watchful eye, she’d pay Emma back for that twice over. Getting revenge and, if Emma were the bottom that Scott suggested, letting Frost enjoy it too.

 

She wasn’t the only one imagining the possibilities. Looking down at Scott’s trousers, Jean saw that his manhood was erect now, ready to thrust into anything that wanted it. A fiery voice whispered what to do and Jean gave it free rein for a moment, grabbing Scott, licking his face as she felt his bulge, as hard as battleship steel beneath his khakis.

 

“I love how hard it feels,” she whispered. “It’s… _delicious.”_

 

He kissed her, but not with the lust she might’ve expected. There was real love there, a true affection that Jean could not believe would be in a kiss with anyone else—at least, not the same way. In the same way that she loved Scott differently from her parents, her friends, the team, she had to believe his love for her was special, uniquely warm with all their years together, how he’d come to think of her as his other half, everything, absolutely everything in their lives that led them together and kept them in love and could not break them apart.

 

But the old doubts were there, as insidious as the Phoenix had ever been. She had changed so much from the girl next door that Scott had fallen in love with, now having more in common with the cosmic entities that sat above them in judgment than the petty human concerns she dwarfed. Was she only pretending to still feel them? And Scott had changed as well. Even if the old him could still be in a relationship with her, could this new man—the one openly in a relationship with Emma Frost while asking her to resume their marriage, and with Betsy Braddock as a lover on top of it! He’d talked of ruthlessness, of the darkness inside both of them that they could fight together, but that was one thing… sharing him, sharing _herself_ with other women… Jean remembered the freeing, corrupting influence of the Hellfire Club, when she eagerly would’ve participated in orgy after orgy with Emma. That was still a part of her, but how far did it run and where would it end?

 

As excited as they both were by the prospect of a threesome with Betsy, would Scott be as excited to watch his darling wife be fucked by Wolverine? More than that, double-teaming her alongside Logan. The thought of having both their cocks in her at once made Jean’s sex run liquid, and she telekinetically rubbed her juice-damp panties against her hard, hot clit. She couldn’t believe how ready she was.

 

Then Scott brought his mouth against hers again.

 

She didn’t know if she’d call it a kiss. It wasn’t like that. It was more like an attack, but that word wasn’t right either. An attack couldn’t be welcomed. But it was certainly as violent as an attack, him forcibly kissing her, violent to the point that it was almost against her will, because how could she consent to being dominated so firmly? And yet, she did.

 

It was as pleasurable as a kiss, but far more intense. His lips—still as soft and loving, at least in form, as when he’d kissed her the first time—stayed demandingly against hers, and his tongue moved deep into her mouth, running against her own with an unmistakable note of conquest. Instinctively, she was struggling against him, not reluctant, not resisting, but trying to assert her own dominance—and being unable to. Scott was simply too masterful to deny. She didn’t need her telepathy to know that. She could feel it in her soul. Talk about change: whatever awkwardness or fear of harming her that he’d once had was now long gone, burned away by the Phoenix’s flames. He knew how much she could take as well as she did, if not better.

 

Finally, he released her, allowing her to breathe. Jean felt grateful relief, but also a perverse heat. _He_ had decided when she’d had enough, when it was time for her to breathe and time for her to service him. Even that little detail had been his purview, not hers. All she had to choose was to submit or not to. The Phoenix was actually silent—savoring this new sensation, this delight that Jean could not, would not interfere with.

 

It had been true before, it was true once more: even when Jean couldn’t trust herself, she could trust Scott. She stared into the visor, not able to see into his eyes, yet able to see into his soul—something that for once made her grateful for her powers. Even as he topped her, she knew his love for her ran infinitely deep. Far more than his own urges, he wanted to please her. He knew this would do it.

 

Maybe that was why he seemed to be catnip to psychics. It was a heady sensation, realizing she was about to be fucked out of her mind for her own damn good.

 

“Make me your bitch,” Jean breathed.

 

Scott smiled. He’d always had a nice smile, but the utter self-confidence she saw was new. And exciting. “I have Emma tied up in our room. I wonder how you’ll sort out the pecking order…”

 

“Fuck the pecking order.”

 

Jean swept her mind over her desk, casting every single item on it down to the floor. Flattened by another telepathic wave, the students saw nothing amiss, coughing and shifting in their sheets as they continued to fill out their tests.

 

“Right here. Right now,” she continued. She grabbed his cock again. It felt even bigger now. Jean imagined herself dressed as the Black Queen again, her wrists shackled, twisting at Scott’s feet, a slave to the cock overflowing her hand right now. “This can’t wait.”

 

It certainly couldn’t—not with the way she was squeezing it. Scott pressed his hands against the austere, unthreatening pattern of Jean’s schoolmarmish blouse. As conservative as it was, it couldn’t even blunt the attraction of Jean’s full breasts, which filled his hands and diligently sprung up as he squeezed. “All these years and you get me just as hot as the day I married you…” 

 

Scott might not’ve had the Phoenix, but he did have his own little voice whispering to him: responsibility. “What if your control slips? They’ll see us.”

 

Jean smirked, her lips so red, they could’ve been aflame. “Then they’ll know what a cock-hungry whore I am… and how lucky I am to have you fucking me like your little bitch.”

 

She threw her arms around his neck and forced her lips to his, trying once more to overtake him in dominance and pleasurably failing. She groaned in lust as their tongues met.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, his gaze safely hidden by the visor, Scott noticed a flash. Mindee Cuckoo was not like her sisters in the Three-In-One, sitting politely quiet like some good little girl in a Victorian storybook. Trying to be surreptitious, she had taken her cell phone out and now had the camera aimed at him and Jean. No doubt it was recording. Unless she was in the habit of recording her teachers in idle moments—and with kids these days, who knew?—she had been able to break free of Jean’s mental dictates and now had noticed something amiss. It was probably the fact that she and her sisters tripled up their power. Jean’s telepathy wouldn’t be as effective on a gestalt consciousness as it would be against a single mind.

 

Scott wondered what to do. If he pointed it out to Jean, it was possible she could compensate for Mindee’s psychic strength and properly put her down—and it was also possible that such a thing would ruin the moment altogether and kill his chances with Jean.

 

“Scott,” Jean purred, taking off her glasses and shaking her hair loose. It only took a moment for her red locks to become as unruly as a lion’s mane. “Your bitch needs you.” Her tone blended sincerity with irony until the two were interchangeable. More than anything else, the Phoenix seemed amused to be a bottom.

 

Scott’s cock throbbed harder than ever. _It_ certainly didn’t mind the change-up. But could he really fuck Jean in front of the Stepford Cuckoos? It was his decision to make; Jean had enthusiastically placed herself in his hands. He doubted they could be planning anything too nefarious. They were Emma’s creatures, and as her fan club, they might have some mischief planned, but nothing truly harmful. Then again, with Emma—with _three_ Emmas—why take the chance? Hell, they were eighteen, likely candidates for Emma’s breeding program once the White Queen had proven herself the trendsetter. This could end up being the kind of guileful manipulation that Emma approved of so strongly.

 

Did he dare try it?


	8. Put On A Show For The Three-In-One

“Slowly,” Jean breathed, her voice so strained she might have been begging, though the sheer need in her tone was far too vehement for that. “Give it to me very slowly… that’s it… bit by bit… inch by inch… all the way… ohhh, Scott, your _tongue…!”_

 

Scott knelt between Jean’s stockinged legs. He had her pinned against her desk, almost sitting on it, but with her hands clasped on the rim to keep herself from drifting too far back. Her skirt was drawn far up over her groin, showing her stockings and garters like an outline of where her panties had been before Scott stripped her of them, and her flaming pubic hair like a big red button for Scott to press.

 

Scott spread the engorged folds of skin that surrounded her slit like flower petals and ran his cheek along her thigh and up to her sex, sniffing her arousal as it grew more and more prominent. When her stingingly hard clitoris came into view, Scott tapped it with the tip of his tongue, and Jean nearly launched herself off of the desk save for her hands holding her down. She threw her hips forward, trying to capture his tongue in her cunt, but Scott held himself aloof from her.

 

“Not so fast, Jean,” Scott rasped, his own breathing coming hot and heavy. He looked up through her silky bush, between her firm breasts, and saw her face expressing both agony and addiction. “This is our first time in a while. We should savor it.”

 

Jean bit her lower lip. The ache in her pussy was unbearable. Already she was clenching inwardly, her juices streaming down her thighs, wetting the stockings that had once seemed so chaste to her. Droplets of the lust Scott had aroused in her clung to her pubic hair, glistening like tiny diamonds—no, like rubies, blazing red with the light reflecting off of Scott’s visor.

 

“I don’t think… I can survive savoring it…” she panted. “Why do you treat me like a princess when I need to be fucked like a whore?”

 

Scott smiled up at her. “Because you’re a goddamn princess.” Then he kissed her pussy, making Jean whinge. “And you won’t taste nearly as good once I’ve tried breeding you.”

 

Jean smiled shakily herself. “Don’t sell yourself short… if your cum tastes as good inside my cunt as it does coming out of your cock…”

 

Scott shook his head. “You’re the kinky one, remember? I’m just trying to make you happy.”

 

“Uh-huh. Funny how you keep finding kinky bitches who need to be spanked to be happy.”

 

“Maybe you should do a case study. ‘Mutant sluts and what gets them off.’”

 

“Why bother? Gambit will tell you all about it if you buy him a drink…”

 

Mindee watched them banter, her teeth grinding together in frustration. She couldn’t see what it was exactly Scott was doing to the teacher, only that his head was between her legs. She couldn’t feel the psychic reverberations of Jean’s pleasure, she couldn’t see how his tongue worked furiously in her pussy—Mindee could only shake with envy and try to imagine what it felt like for Jean, her legs thrown open, Scott’s soft lips giving her a kiss somewhere so much more meaningful than her mouth.

 

No, Mindee had to settle for the next best thing. Keeping her recording phone aimed at the two adults, she rubbed through her skirt and into her panties, making her clit feel _something_ like how Jean’s must be feeling.

 

Scott sucked his tongue back into his mouth, tasting sweetly of Jean’s pussy, and kissed her toned thigh as it gleamed with her wetness. “You taste so good, Jean. I want you to taste you coming all day long.”

 

“I may take you up on that offer,” Jean purred. “We have a lot of lost time to make up for. But for now, I want you to come. And not in my mouth…”

 

Scott rose up, fixing Jean with his gaze as he undid his belt, his zipper, hauled his cock from his briefs. She might not’ve been able to see his eyes, but with this degree of intimacy, it was impossible for her not to read his mind and feel his lust for her on a level he could never say. Jean panted, out of breath, almost hyperventilating as she shared Scott’s arousal.

 

Scott parted her thighs, stepped between them, and his cock pressed effortlessly through the tightest folds of her cunt as a hot knife would go through butter. He felt her inner muscles tugging at him as much as they had tried to hold him out, but he was inexorable. Guiding himself in to the root of his cock, then slipping back out of her as Jean nearly gibbered with her desire for him to stay inside her.

 

“I’ll come where I damn well please,” he told Jean, and she nearly climaxed then and there. However complicated things might have gotten at the time, his relationship with Emma had clearly been good for him. If he could dom _the White Queen,_ clearly no one was safe.

 

Mindee’s mouth hung open, heedless of giving away her voyeurism as she watched Scott’s engorged balls smacking against Jean’s ass with every thrust he made. Her fellow students, lost in the haze of Jean’s telepathic blinding, might’ve been ignorant of it. But to Mindee, it was like a personal taunt, like Jean and Scott were openly teasing her. _She_ was a superior telepath, _she_ could see through Jean’s illusion, but she could give no sign of hearing Scott was snorting and grunting as he fucked into Jean like a wild beast mauling its prey.

 

Jean raked her fingernails down Scott’s back like she wanted to rip right through his shirt. She was groaning, gasping with every thrust he made into her. Mindee could tell it wasn’t fake. They were both getting off on Jean being his cock-slut.

 

In seconds, the pleasure Mindee had thought she’d been feeling in masturbating herself was utterly eclipsed by what she felt watching Jean come. Her own juices flooded her crotch, droplets rolling over her inner thighs and being thrown off by her quaking arousal. As she watched the two fuck, Mindee wished with all her heart that someday she would be married to a big, strong man like Scott who would fuck her half as good as Jean was getting.

 

Mindee moaned under her breath, now able to summon up enough will to touch herself once more. She had to. Jean was coming hard, the initial climax quickly giving way to the next and the next, as if Scott were keeping her on some orgasmic plateau with each rough thrust.

 

Still, Jean said “Stop _playing_ with me,” her voice almost pleading, but with the same serious undercurrent as before. “ _Fuck me_ or I’ll fuck myself, you… you prick… goddamnit!”

 

In a flash, Jean grabbed Scott by the lapels and whirled them around so that he was shoved down on his back atop the desk. She mounted him, spreading her thighs so wide that her skirt nearly split, and rode up and down on his well-hardened cock. Mindee felt another twinge of jealousy, seeing the massive base of Scott’s prick that even Jean wasn’t able to lower herself to. Then she scolded herself for thinking such a thing. That was Emma’s man. Mindee couldn’t just think about him that way… even if he was fucking Jean, it wasn’t like he’d be fucking every woman in the Institute. Would he?

 

“If you want to be fucked,” Scott said, putting his large hands on Jean’s womanly hips. “All you had to do was ask.”

 

Then he took charge. Full and direct. Jean had been riding him like a mechanical bull, trying to impale herself violently on his erection, stay in the saddle while her body shook with pleasure. Scott did the opposite. Holding her at the waist, he worked her up and down on his cock, working his hips as he did it so his manhood disappeared up into the heights of Jean’s belly, where Mindee’d had no idea a woman could be penetrated. She could almost see the bulge of where Jean’s trim waist was distended by Scott’s knob moving underneath it.

 

Jean was immediately lost in the wilderness of a complete, dominating fuck. The only thing she could really feel was Scott’s hands on the curve of her hourglass figure, holding her in place on his rocking hips and pulling her body to him when he wanted her cunt at the base of his prick. Everything else was overwhelming intensity—the bodily equivalent of staring at the sun. Jean felt his huge erection throb and jerk threateningly inside her, as if warning her of how her cunt would be ruined when Scott finally came.

 

Then Scott flexed his powerful arms and Jean traveled up his shaft, a powerful vacuum forming inside her. The emptiness was unbearable after she’d experienced what it was to be full. Jean cried out for Scott to stretch her hungry pussy once more.

 

He always did.

 

Inside her well-used cunt… almost inside her _womb…_ Jean felt Scott’s huge knob swell. She grinned blissfully, knowing she was still the girl Scott Summers fucked. Let Emma be the new thing. She was the _first._

 

“Can you hold it?” Scott asked, his voice terse but calm. It turned Jean on even more, knowing how expert her lover was in the midst of her rapture.

 

She put her hands on her belly and felt the throb of Scott’s erection deep inside her. “I don’t know, baby… I have to… God, how can I _not?”_

 

“The class,” Scott told her. “Can you keep them under?”

 

Doubt flooded Jean’s eyes. She didn’t know if she’d even _survive_ a simultaneous orgasm with Scott like in the old days, let alone be able to keep it under wraps. There was a reason the X-Men’s nocturnal activities made the Avengers look like a book club. All that psychic fuck energy had to go _somewhere._

 

Scott instantly made a judgment call, like a switch being thrown. As much as it pained her, Jean took his domineering treatment of her like another thrust of his cock.

 

In a flash, Scott was up, dropping Jean to her knees on the ground. Mindee saw his huge cock in the open air, throbbing with the tightness of her cunt, every inch of it dripping with Jean’s orgasmic cream. Mindee gave a little strangled gasp, unable to believe her eyes. She hadn’t actually seen many cocks, except in Playgirl, but she was smart enough to realize that even by the liberal standards of most men’s self-image, Scott was _massive._ Hung like one of the horses in Emma’s stables, and ridden far more frequently.

 

Scott stooped over Jean, ripping her blouse open with a chorus of buttons flying in all directions. She wore no bra underneath her top, and Mindee was reminded of how Scott had said Jean was a cock-hungry whore underneath her teacher appearance. In fact, it seemed like she’d been starving and now she was about to be fed.

 

As Jean knelt there, her blouse hanging open, her bare breasts on display, Scott stroked his hand up and down the astonishing length of his erection. And he turned his head. Mindee found herself staring straight into the glowing ruby quartz of his visor. A smile creased his stoic expression as he looked at her, eyes roving up and down her trembling body. Mindee couldn’t move. Her mind raced with thoughts of how angry Ms. Frost would be knowing that she’d let Scott Summers look at her this way, but she was held fast by his bold grin and implacable stare.

 

“ _Hhn!”_ Scott grunted, and he came right into Jean’s open mouth, then all over her naked breasts. Jean moaned, slowly letting his cum drip out of her parted lips as more of his seed slapped against her chest, stingingly hot, making her sensitive skin reverberate as if with another orgasm. Before the cum could fall onto her chin, she lapped it into her mouth with a tongue and swallowed it.

 

She lifted her ample breasts to her mouth, running her tongue over their cum-strewn curves, her growing hunger reminding Jean of being a teenager who’d just discovered sex. Her cunt ached, throbbed as if she’d never been fucked in all that time. She wanted nothing more than Scott’s cock back inside her, giving her more of this wonderful cream.

 

And still Scott _came,_ firing into Jean’s face, her hair, all the temptingly exposed flesh of her chest and belly that demanded his mark. He never seemed to look away from Mindee. He just covered Jean, like she was so _his_ that his cum would not land anywhere else.

 

It turned Mindee on so much to see the kind of thing that happened to Ms. Frost behind closed doors that she came without knowing that she was anywhere close to climax. She gasped, her body went rigid with rapture, and it was only thanks to Jean moaning herself that she didn’t hear Mindee cry out. Mindee fucked her hot little cunt right in front of Scott until the delicious spasms could not be compelled to stay any longer, then she just sat there, watching as Scott’s emptied cock slowly declined and Jean dripped with his cum.

 

Slowly, haltingly—looking at disordered as Mindee felt—Jean came up to her feet, holding her blouse closed over the breasts Scott had painted with his cum.

 

“Time,” she said weakly, her voice remarkably composed while her face was set in the cock-drunk look she’d worn since Scott had taken charge of the fuck. “Everyone, please leave your tests facedown on your desks and proceed to your next class.”

 

***

 

Scott did not give Jean permission to wipe her face clean, so what she couldn’t lick up, she simply left on her face until the last student had left. Then she did up the few remaining buttons on her blouse, holding it slightly shut as she put back on her cardigan.

 

Perhaps, despite all the power she could wield, Jean was simply constitutionally passive, even submissive. Perhaps that was even why she and the Phoenix had formed such a compelling bond. In any event, she greatly enjoyed putting aside everything and simply being Scott’s for the moment.

 

“So,” she said to him, “you have Emma Frost tied to a bed?”

 

“And gagged.”

 

“That should be interesting.” Jean stood, taking a moment to ready herself. She’d need to project an image of herself where she wasn’t half-naked and dripping with cum to everyone they met in the hall. Scott simply had to zip himself up. “ _You’re_ more interesting. In the old days, you never would have let that little urchin record us.”

 

“You noticed?” Scott asked.

 

“I’m the Phoenix, Scott. I tend to notice wet cunts. But then, I didn’t care to stop her either…”

 

Scott stared at her, surprised. He’d gotten off on the exhibitionism of the fuck, but he would’ve thought Jean would prove jealous of another ‘participant’ in an encounter where she was meant to have him all to herself. Most women got mad when their turf was honed in on like that. But Jean’s eyes shone with burning curiosity. There were some women who got feverishly turned on by being naughty, and sharing their man with a ‘rival’ definitely counted. But if Jean had resolved to simply relax and enjoy the ride—well, interesting was certainly one word for it.

 

 “Of course, I know what she and the other Cuckoos are planning to do with that recording.” Jean smiled sunnily at Scott. “But why should you care? _You’re_ going to have a threesome. All you have to decide is which of us you’re going to fuck first.”


End file.
